


Haunted House Sweet Home

by InkFlavored



Series: PuzzleJune 2019 [5]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Atem is ghost haunting Yugi's new place, Board Games, Fluff, Gen, Haunted Houses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s), Yugi just wants to live, hah! you fools! i've tricked you all into reading about my headcanons!!, its not super gorey but im also not going to skimp out, semi-graphic violence i guess?, this includes a oujia board, ya feel me?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 129,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFlavored/pseuds/InkFlavored
Summary: Yugi doesn't believe in ghosts. He never has and, up until now, he thought he never would. But when he moves into his new apartment, things start disappearing, doors start slamming, and an ancient crown has it out for him. He's forced to face reality: he's living in a haunted house. But will he be "living," there for long?PuzzleJune2019 (Week 4: Home)





	1. Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> happy week four everybody! when I started writing this, i thought it was going to be a 10k word one-shot. I then realized that I had way too many ideas to fit into 10k words, so I'm ending PuzzleJune with a bang, and making this week's prompt multi-chapter! Hopefully I'll have it finished by the end of the month, but if not, then oh well! 
> 
> enjoy!

For all intents and purposes, this was home. And he hated it.

Yugi lugged his first of many boxes up the rickety stairs to his new apartment, and sighed. He didn’t _hate_ it. It was a pretty nice place, considering his small budget and reluctance toward moving out of Domino. The building was old enough that the floorboards creaked as he hefted the box in his arms to a more comfortable position, and when he’d gone to check out the place the first time, there had been at least an inch of dust on the floor. The landlord hadn’t mentioned who had rented last – or if it was within the last fifty years – but it had running water, central heating, and was right under what he was willing to pay. No, he didn’t hate this _place_ at all.

He hated what it _represented_. It was different – it was a change. He had never done well with change. A lot of changes had happened in his life, lately, and none of them good. He was hoping this would be the one to turn his month around.

Yugi reached the top of the stairs and dug for the keys in his pocket, shifting the box to one arm. He grunted as the weight moved, more than he expected, and wished he’d done a better job of labeling his stuff – what was _in_ this thing?

He fumbled the key into the lock and turned it, ready to put the box down before he lost the arm that was carrying it. He swung the door open, took the first step into his new home.

The second step wasn't as triumphant.

His shoe caught on a loose board at the stop of the stairs, trapped under the wood, and sent him careening to the floor, box flung from his arms to tumble halfway through the entrance and sag on the floor. Yugi propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his aching nose.

So much for turning his month around.

 

 

Surrounded by boxes – more of them unopened than he’d like – Yugi sat on the floor in his new apartment with a boxcutter and stacks and stacks of miscellaneous pieces of furniture, decorations, and general household essentials. He wasn’t looking forward to having to put together all of his furniture _again_ , but at least it disassembled into small enough pieces that he hadn’t needed to buy new ones when he moved.

He sliced open a nearby box labelled “KITCHEN” and reached in to pull out a stack of plates. He sat them in his lap to look at them, smiling wistfully.

They were dinner plates, white with grooved, wave-like edges, and painted with little blue birds, vines, and flowers. It was all accented with gold, a thin circle around the inner rim marked where the designs stopped and where the food should go. He brushed his fingers along the surface. These had been his grandpa’s favorites. Yugi took them after…

Well. _After_.

He sighed at the plates and set them to the side. Once he cleaned out the cabinets in the kitchen, he’d find them a place to live. Really the whole _house_ needed a deep clean. The dust on the floor had been _mostly_ taken care of, but the counters, drawers, and pretty much anything bolted down? Serious hygiene issues. He found himself wondering, again, how long _had_ it been since someone lived here?

He reached into the “KITCHEN” box once more, and pulled out a set of bowls, glasses stacked inside each other, and… oh, another one of those dinner plates, sitting by itself. _It must have gotten tossed around in the ride here_ , he thought, checking it for scratches. It looked perfectly fine, so he turned to set it on the stack of the other plates—

Only to set it on the floor instead, because the other plates were _gone_.

Yugi frowned at the single plate in spot where there had once been an entire stack. He… _had_ set them here, right? There wasn’t much space around for them to go. Just to check, he craned his neck around the room, over boxes and unattached chair legs, looking for somewhere they could have gotten accidentally pushed off to or if he’d set something in front of them.

There was a clatter behind him and Yugi turned around to see all his plates. Sitting on the floor innocently. There was only one problem:

He hadn’t put them there.

“O-kay,” he muttered, cold trickling down his spine. “Little weird.”

He shrugged off the creepy feeling. He’d probably just pushed them behind him by accident. Yugi took the plates back and set them in _front_ of him this time, and replaced the orphan plate on top of the stack. Problem solved!

He unpacked the rest of the “KITCHEN” box – chopsticks, smaller plates, smaller bowls, smaller glasses, _Why do I have so many small things?_ – and soon had them all laid out in front of him. None of them moved mysteriously, which was a good sign. A better sign was that he found where he’d put the towels so he could clean out the cabinets.

He snatched a rag out of the box and stepped over the boxes and unmade furniture to the kitchen, splashing the fabric with water at the sink. He opened the first cabinet he saw only to jump back with a gasp as an eye stared back at him.

Not a real one, of course. That would have been weird.

Instead, it was an intricately detailed _carving_ of an eye, attached to some kind of weird golden headband. The band itself was thick, and it widened to a point where the eye carving sat in the center. Two wings stuck out from the sides, like it would be shooting out from the wearer’s temples. It glinted in the light from the kitchen, and the eye seemed to move as Yugi crept back up to the cabinet.

He picked up the golden thing and was surprised at how _heavy_ it was. It couldn’t have been made of _real_ gold, could it? He wiped it with the wet rag and held it up to the light. It shimmered and gleamed, as if it was proud of itself. He brought it back down to eye-level, frowning at it curiously. The eye stared back at him as he surveyed the expert level craftsmanship. It was definitely old, but it didn’t look like it had seen any damage in… ever. There’s no way a regular old headband would be made like this.

_This thing_ isn’t _a headband_ , he decided. _It’s a crown_.

A loud bang like a gunshot startled Yugi out of his thoughts, the crown (?) dropping out of his hands and tumbling and onto the floor. He hardly noticed as he leapt across the house to open a window and see what in the _fuck_ had made that sound.

He didn’t have to go even _that_ far, because when he stepped back into the living room, he saw the door to the nearest room – the bathroom – open wide, as if it had been slammed against the wall. Yugi laughed nervously, shaking out his hands to keep them from trembling.

“Just the door,” he promised himself. “That’s all.” He glanced at the rag, still in his hand. “Right. Cleaning.” He waddled to kitchen again, heartbeat pounding, even as he tried to soothe it.

When he got back to the open cabinet, he scoffed at himself. What was he, nine years old? So the door had opened, big deal. This apartment was older than dirt, it probably had a loose hinge that had finally snapped. He shook himself free of all nerves, and reached into the open cabinet, brandishing his wet rag confidently.

He’d wiped down half the cabinets, returning to the sink to refresh his rag every so often, and decided that was probably enough space to fit all of his _currently_ unpacked utensils. He turned around and gasped – then cursed to himself.

The golden crown was sitting on the counter, the eye facing him, staring unwaveringly. He rolled his own eyes, tossing the dirty rag in the sink and walking out of the kitchen. Man, he _really_ had to get over himself. It’s just a crown. The person who rented before him was probably an antiques collector or something and left the crown behind when they moved. That’s _all_.

It took him until he got back to the living room to realize that he’d dropped the crown on the floor, and hadn’t ever picked it back up.

Yugi slowly turned to the kitchen again, plates clutched to his chest. There weren’t very many excuses he could use for _that_.

 He tiptoed back into the kitchen, almost expecting to see the crown floating in the air by itself. But when he looked to the counter, it was gone. He looked down and saw it on the floor. Right where he had dropped it in the first place. He blinked. Had he just _imagined_ it on the counter?

No, it had _definitely_ been there. And it hadn’t just fallen off the counter – he would have heard it hit the ground. So that means there was either a very quiet and meticulous draft in his kitchen, or there was someone in his house. He swallowed, glancing around nervously.

Yugi didn’t believe in ghosts. It was fun to think about, sure, but he’d never seen any “real” evidence to support the idea. His friend Ryou claimed otherwise, but they’d long since learned to agree to disagree on the subject. Of course, they were _both_ partial to a good scare – his second favorite genre for anything was horror – and they could talk about the coolest ghost stories they’d heard for _hours_. Still, he had never latched on to the idea of the “soul persisting after death.” It was ridiculous, for a lot of reasons. The idea of a ghost in his house – in _anyone’s_ house – was almost laughable.

But he didn’t have a lot of other ideas to explain this.

“Hello?” he called into the house, hugging his plates closer. “If there’s a ghost in here, I’d really appreciate you _not_ haunting me while I’m moving in.” He felt like a complete idiot, but the hairs on the back of his head were standing straight up with the rest of his cut, so he kept going. “I’m willing to make this arrangement work if you are. We can be like roommates. Or something.”

Complete silence.

Yugi sagged, both with relief and with exasperation. He was twenty-five, acting like some kind of teenage horror movie protagonist. He put the plates on the counter and picked up the crown off the floor. He was going to get rid of this thing. It was creepy and weird and it didn’t even _belong_ to—

An overwhelming sense of dread came over him at the idea of tossing the crown out with the trash. Something crawled up his throat – a scream? A sob? – and tried to work its way past his lips, but couldn’t choke itself out. Unmitigated pressure wrapped around his neck and held him there. Yugi stood there, strangled by his own tongue, unable to breathe, tears pricking at his eyes, hands getting cold and stiff. He dropped the crown.

The millisecond it clattered to the floor, the pressure around his throat released. Yugi collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. The tears at the corners of his eyes spilled over when he blinked.

“Okay!” he choked. “The crown stays. The crown stays.” He said it a few more times to make sure _whatever_ had tried to strangle him to death definitely heard him.

He bit the knuckle on his index finger and coughed out another sob. What the _hell_ was going _on_?

 

 

Yugi adjusted his button-down in the full body mirror he’d set up in his room. He turned to look at himself from a few different angles. It’s not like this was a _super_ formal event, but he wanted to be a good host. House-warming parties only happened so often, after all. A knock at the door snapped him out of his grooming.

“Just a second!” he called. He smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt and turned to address the empty air of his bedroom. “There are going to be a few people over. I hope you’re okay with that.”

As always, his words were met with complete silence. He shrugged and headed for the door – he’d take silence over a haunting.

Honestly, he felt like an idiot for staying. For continuing to live in a haunted apartment (he still couldn’t believe he was saying that) with a ghost that tried to strangle him on day one. For doing _any_ of what he was doing. But his money was limited and so was his time. Plus, it’s not like he could come up with a reasonable excuse to move out as soon as he’d signed his contract. Not without a sizable chunk of cash, anyway.

Instead of leaving, he attempted to make the arrangement more manageable. He’d been trying to play nice with the ghost, talking to it, trying to make it feel welcome in his home, but the restless spirit didn’t seem to want to play along with him. It hadn’t scrawled “GET OUT” on his walls in blood (yet) but it also hadn’t done much of _anything_ since he’d moved in a week ago. He got the faintest warning every time he touched the crown, the sensation of a hand brushing across the back of his neck, which he’d taken to mean “don’t try anything funny, got it?”

Other than that, the ghost had stayed relatively impartial to the goings-on of Yugi arranging furniture and decorating his new home. Apart from making a few screws disappear, which he suspected was just the ghost fucking with him.

Yugi put a hand on the door handle and took a breath. He only hoped it would _stay_ impartial for his guests.

He opened the door with a bright smile. “Hey! I’m so glad you could make it.”

His childhood friend, Jou, stood on the other side of the threshold, holding a pot of something that smelled _delicious_. “Of course, Yug’!” he replied. “If I missed this, I’d be the worst best friend ever.”

Yugi stepped aside for the newcomer. “Come on in, please.”

Jou obliged, stepping into the apartment and toeing out of his shoes. He let out a low whistle as he looked around “Man, you really did a nice job with this place.”

“Thanks.”

Closing the door, Yugi stepped back and admired his handiwork. The nice blue furniture really helped liven up the boring white walls, and his floor-to-ceiling bookshelf full of boardgames, video games, puzzles, and other nerdy junk was the most organized it would ever be. He’d set up the living room to be the perfect game-playing room, the TV perfectly visible from every seat, and the coffee table long enough for half a dozen people to sit at comfortably. Perfect for the crowd he would have tonight.

“I’ll be honest,” Jou said, nudging Yugi with an elbow, “when you showed me the pictures of this place, I thought it’d be a dump.”

“The outside is worse than the inside,” he agreed.

“Totally.” Jou looked at him meaningfully. “My hands are burning off, where can I set this down?”

“Oh, right over here.” Yugi led him across the living room to the kitchen, spotlessly wiped down of all dust without a second incident, and indicated the stove. “Any of those burners is fine.”

“Sweet.”

Jou set down the pot and Yugi couldn’t help but pop the lid open and inhale. “Mmm,” he hummed, closing his eyes in bliss. “Ramen.”

“It’s a secret recipe,” Jou bragged.

Yugi closed the pot and gave him a look. “So Shizuka made it?”

“Nope,” he answered, crossing his arms proudly. “She only _supervised_ me this time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious!”

“Tell her that her ‘supervision’ paid off.”

Before Jou could think up a comeback, there was another knock at the door. Yugi gave his friend a smug smile as he went to answer the door. It was returned with Jou sticking his tongue out.

This time, Yugi opened the door to _two_ more guests, Anzu and Ryuji, the latter holding a platter of tempura covered in plastic wrap and the former with two two-liter soda bottles.

“Hey, both of you,” he greeted. “So glad you could make it.”

“Happy new home, Yugi,” Anzu said in response.

“Hope you’re ready to party hard,” Ryuji said, making two rock-n-roll symbols against the bottles in his arms.

Yugi laughed and stepped aside to let them in. “Don’t party _too_ hard, I just got this place put together.”

Ryuji walked in like he owned the place, kicking off his shoes and strutting around the living room. "No promises."

Yugi shrugged and shut the door. "Alright, but you're paying the damages."

"Your place looks great," Anzu said, struggling to kick off her shoes with the tray in her hand.

"Here, I'll get that," he insisted, taking the tray from her. He slipped his fingers under the plastic wrap and snatched one of the tempura from the plate. He took advantage of her bending over to untie the laces on her boots to shove most of it in his mouth. Keyword _most_.

"Thanks, I can—" Anzu gasped as she popped up and saw him chewing with half a fried carrot hanging out of his mouth. She snatched the platter out of his hands. “At least wait until I put it _down_.”

“S’rry,” he said, through a mouthful of the stolen carrot. “’S good.”

After a fake scolding from Anzu, everyone gathered in the living room with a drink – courtesy of Ryuji – to wait for the remaining guests to arrive, enjoying conversation, and, of course, playing a game of _Risk_.

“Stop attacking me, Jou,” Ryuji muttered over his red game pieces, plucking the defending dice from the table.

“I’ll stop attacking when you stop pushing my border,” Jou countered, shaking the attack dice in his hands.

“I got Australia, and I want to _keep_ it, thanks.”

“Then get ready for the Jou-Master.”

Yugi snorted so hard his drink almost went up his nose. “ _Never_ call yourself that again.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Just _roll_ ,” Ryuji demanded.

Without another word, the opponents released their dice. The plastic skittered across the table, red and white clashing in a battle of tiny model armies on a tiny map of the world. Everyone leaned forward to catch the winning and losing numbers of the dice.

“Four, five— _yes_!” Ryuji cheered, at the same time that Jou scowled at his lesser numbers, removing two tiny blue game pieces from the map’s representation of Siam, leaving the country defenseless. Red game pieces took over from Indonesia, the winner’s smug smile following them all the way there. “You sure showed me _Jou-Master_.”

“Shut up.” The loser gestured to Yugi on his right. “Your turn.”

“First thing’s first,” Yugi announced, picking three _Risk_ cards from his hand and passing them to Anzu, “I’d like to get a few extra armies, please.”

“Going big, I see,” she mused.

His mouth turned up in a sly smile. “You’ll see.”

Ryuji put his head in his hands. “We’re all doomed.”

Everyone around the table laughed, but the joke was only funny because it was true. Yugi was notoriously good at strategy games, “notorious,” because all his friends threatened to never play against him again if he won. It was in jest, but there’s always truth to a threat like that.

He surveyed the board, carefully plotting his next move as Anzu dug in the game box for his extra yellow armies. Ryuji was hands-down the weakest player on the board, but he had a lot of hard to reach territories, like Australia and Madagascar – countries with the least access in the game. Yugi’s pieces were mainly in North and South America, with a few in North Africa. He could only get there if he took out Jou in the rest of Africa and most of Asia. That would be a mistake.

Jou was a hard hitter. If he won a battle, he’d go again and again until either he lost or took over the territory he was attacking. A bad strategy for a lot of reasons, but Yugi didn’t have enough troops in either country to risk attacking and win. He looked to Anzu next.

Anzu had been turtling the entire game, building up her defenses around the one continent she controlled, Europe, and making deals with the other players. Yugi, himself, had been a part of one of her treaties – to not invade North America until they’d gotten rid of the mutual Jou-shaped threat in Ukraine. He’d lost his territory in Afghanistan for that one, but it had weakened Jou enough for Anzu to take him out.

Though she didn’t look like it, Anzu was a powerful player. Not powerful in strength, but in cunning. She cut deals, looked innocent, and weaseled her way onto the board so slowly that no one would notice she was the player with the most territories until it was too late. Yugi had made that mistake before – and never again. He’d been keeping an eye on her turtle shell the whole game for exactly that reason.

He could reach her through Greenland, start chipping away at her defenses in Iceland, and hopefully get some bonus armies to work his way through Africa, and _then_ —

“Six armies,” Anzu announced, interrupting his strategizing. “That includes the ones you get from your territories, by the way.” She dropped six yellow troops in front of him.

“Perfect.” Yugi took the troops and distributed them around his territories.

“That’s a lot of troops in Greenland, Yug’,” Jou commented.

“Sure is.”

“Are you attacking this turn?”

“Sure am.” He looked up from the board, satisfied, and shot a beaming smile at Anzu. Her mouth dropped open in betrayal.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

His smile didn’t waver. “Iceland’s nice this time of year, isn’t it?”

Jou and Ryuji very quickly got over their previous battle to look at each other with matching excitement. Anzu, on the other hand, was staring Yugi dead in the eye, swiping the two white defending dice from Ryuji. Yugi picked up _three_ red attacking dice.

“Good luck,” he said, shaking up the dice.

“Same to you,” she replied.

They released their dice to scatter across the table, the plastic rattling on the surface, merrily rolling before coming to a hard stop. They counted up their numbers.

Yugi had a five, a four, and a one.

Anzu had a three and a one.

“I believe I win this round,” he smarmed, as Anzu took away two of her four Iceland armies, Yugi standing strong with six total. He picked up the three attacking dice again. “Another round?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

They rolled again, plastic going flying and landing.

Yugi ended up with a five and a six.

Anzu had a four and a two.

She swiped her last two Iceland territories and Yugi replaced them with four of his own.

“Thanks for that,” he said, preening.

“You’re gonna get it, Mutou,” she promised.

“Well, it’s your turn now.” He leaned forward, and propped his head up on his hands. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Before she could, there was a rapid knock at the door. Yugi jumped up from his seat, with a quick, “Be right back!” Behind him he heard Anzu grumbling about revenge, Jou and Ryuji snickering to themselves.

Yugi pulled the door open to see the remaining two guests on his porch – Honda, holding a grocery bag, and Ryou.

“Sorry we’re late,” Ryou said, holding his hands behind his back sheepishly.

“Yeah, traffic was awful,” Honda agreed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yugi said, brushing away their concerns with a handwave. “I’m glad you both could make it at all.”

“Even better,” Ryou announced. “Look what I brought.”

Yugi realized that his horror-loving friend _hadn’t_ been holding his hands behind his back because he was embarrassed. He was hiding something. And when he brought it out from behind his back, Yugi’s heart dropped to his feet like a stone.

It was a Ouija board.

He was going to bring a _Ouija board_ into his _actually-really-haunted_ house.

This was how he was going to die.

“Are you going to let us in?” Honda asked, and Yugi realized he’d been standing in stunned silence for more than a little while. “This ice cream is going to be soup if I stand out here any longer.”

“Right, of course,” he said, jumping back from the door, trying not to look panicked. “But seriously, Ryou? You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“It’s just for fun,” Ryou countered. “Plus, what better way to make sure your home is really just _yours_?”

If he hadn’t had several experiences with a roommate he didn’t know he was moving in with, Yugi might have laughed. Now, all he could manage was a smile he hoped didn’t look like a grimace. “Ha, right."

He led his guests back to the _Risk_ table and let everyone greet each other before he announced that since everyone was here, that they should put the game on pause so he could give them all a tour of the place. Thankfully, everyone agreed. Ryou put the Ouija board under the couch for safekeeping, and Yugi was saved from having to worry about it.

There wasn't much of the house to see, but everyone followed him around like fascinated baby ducks, making nice comments like it was a five-story mansion. They had seen the living room and the kitchen, there were only two bathrooms to speak of, a hall with a closet, and, of course, his room.

Yugi was proud of how he'd done up his room. The walls were the same boring white as the rest of the house, but his colored wall stickers and glow in the dark stars really built up the character he was going for. His Duel Monsters card collection was sitting in the glass collector's case, the rarest cards displayed first, next to it was his desk and gaming set-up, and on the bed was his selection of plush toys that he absolutely refused to grow out of. He'd thrown a plush blue carpet on the floor in front of his dresser and the full-body mirror on the door of his closet. And on the wall opposite the bed was a shelf, lined up with his most prized possessions.

"Wow," Jou said, looking up at the shelf. Yugi was sitting on the corner of his bed, looking up at it too. "They really look great, Yug'."

Seven golden artifacts, or rather _replica_ golden artifacts, sat in a row on a long shelf near the ceiling. A puzzle box, an _ankh_ , an eye, a ring, a set of scales, a scepter, and a necklace, all in a row, propped up on stands to show themselves off.

“I can’t believe he let you keep these,” Ryou said.

“Me neither,” Yugi admitted. “Grandpa really wanted me to have them though.”

“He would be really proud of you."

Yugi looked away from the shelf to see Anzu standing at his side, a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling, a little sad.

He nodded, with a sad smile of his own. "Yeah."

The room was silent as everyone meditated on Anzu's words.

It was broken when Honda reached up to the corner of the shelf and said, "Hey, what's this?"

The tallest member of the group pulled down the golden crown that Yugi had _thought_ would be hidden behind the puzzle box, but apparently not. He jumped up from the bed and went over to Honda, trying to find a way to take it from him without looking like a maniac.

"I found it when I was moving in," he said, hands fluttering forward anxiously. "I think it's an antique crown or something."

"Cool," Honda said. He held it up to his face and stared down the center carving. "It's kinda creepy."

Yugi laughed nervously. "Well, you know. Antique."

"Put it on," Ryuji said, coming over from his time inspecting the card collection.

Jou gasped. "That would look so _cool."_

"Hell yeah," Honda agreed, reaching up to place the crown on his head.

Yugi was _not_ about to let that happen.

His short stature forced him to _jump_ to snatch the crown out of Honda's grip, the unsuspecting friend doing a double take when he found his hand empty.

"What gives?" he asked.

"It's an antique," Yugi explained, mind racing a million miles a second to think up a reasonable excuse. "I don't want it to uh. Break."

"Break?"

"Yeah. It's really old. It's really cool and I'd hate to throw it out." He said that last part a little louder than he needed to, but he wanted to make sure the ghost could hear him.

Honda blinked. "Okay?"

"Is anybody else hungry?" Yugi asked, still a little louder than necessary, but that was because of his nerves. "I'm hungry. Let's eat dinner."

As Jou started announcing how amazing his ramen was, he led them all out of the room in a hungry procession. All except Yugi.

He made sure he was the last one in the room before he pulled out his desk chair to stand on and put the crown back on the shelf.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I know you don't like people touching this thing. I'll try to get them to keep their hands off it."

Surprisingly, he got a response. The ghostly hand that usually brushed across his neck in warning instead passed over his forehead and through his hair like an invisible breeze. He guessed that was the ghost's way of saying _thank you._

"You're welcome," he said, smiling a little. "Roomie."

"Yugi?"

He almost fell off the chair, just barely catching his balance as he whipped his head toward the door.

It was Ryou, standing in the threshold of the door. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Don't you want to eat?"

"Right," he breathed. "Just setting the crown back up."

Ryou nodded and turned to leave, but stopped. "Are you alright?"

Yugi hopped down from the chair, nerves bubbling in his chest again. "Alright?" _Please don't notice the ghost._

"I meant the Ouija board as a joke, but I understand if it might be in poor taste. After your grandfather and everything." He shuffled his feet.

A pang shot through Yugi. Suddenly, the ghost in his house wasn't the most important thing on his mind.

"It's okay," he said, and he meant it. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. And honestly, Grandpa would have thought it was funny."

They shared a laugh together, cut short by the subject of their humor.

"Well," Ryou said, "I'm hungry."

"Yeah," Yugi agreed. "Me too."

He flicked the lights off as he left the room. A cool breeze followed him out, sending a shiver down his spine.

 

 

"And then Jou was like, 'I can _totally_ take this guy!'"

Yugi took a break from telling the story to laugh, along with everyone else sitting around the coffee table in the living room, bowls of ramen set up around the incomplete game of _Risk_.

"Remember this guy is like _twice_ his size, which is like four times _my_ size—"

"No way," Jou interrupted, "he was like _three_ times my size."

"And you still thought you could _fight him_?" Honda asked around a mouthful of noodles.

"I was fifteen and stupid!"

"He got his _ass_ kicked," Yugi added. "He was down in like _two_ hits."

"Oh my God," Anzu said, ostensibly worried, but her laughter told a different story. She nudged Jou. "Were you okay?"

He gave her a bewildered look. "No, I wasn't _okay_! I was the opposite of okay!"

The table broke out into laughter again, Yugi holding a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting broth everywhere. This story was a crowd favorite for a reason.

"Luckily for us," he continued, "someone had already called the police, and they showed up just as Jou went down—"

"Literally, the last thing I remember from that fight is police sirens."

"—and he ended up having to go to the hospital for stitches, right here." He made a line down one side of his face, from his temple to mid-cheek.

Jou shuddered at the memory. "Worst moment of my life."

"Worse than getting punched?" Ryou asked.

"Definitely."

"How did your Grandpa react, Yugi?" Honda asked.

Yugi blew out his cheeks, locking eyes with Jou knowingly. "I'm surprised he didn't give _me_ stitches."

"That bad?"

"Oh yeah. Worse. I was grounded for like a month."

"Hell," Jou added, "I'm surprised he didn't ground _me_."

"He would have if he could."

The laughter had died down, replaced with fond smiles and sad eyes. That's how it had been for a while, every time Yugi's grandpa was brought up.

"He was a great guy," Ryuji said, just loud enough for all of them to hear. They all nodded.

"I'd drink to that," Honda agreed.

"Why not a toast?" Ryou suggested

Everyone nodded around the table, lifting their glasses of various contents. They all looked to Yugi to start.

"To Mutou Sugoroku," he began. "Thank you for raising me, for caring for me, and teaching me."

"Thanks for giving me a place to stay, Old Man," Jou added. Yugi smiled at the old nickname.

"Thanks for letting us hang out all the time," Honda said.

"Thanks for being a great man and a better guardian," Anzu said.

"Thanks for being the coolest grandpa I've ever met," Ryuji said.

"Thank you for everything you gave us," Ryou finished.

They all tipped back their glasses. Yugi half-wished his drink was alcoholic, but he hadn't had time to hit the liquor store since moving in. And now with a _ghost_ in the house, he wasn’t sure it was even safe to get drunk.

The rest of the dinner was finished in relative silence, a few conversations here and there, but nothing as explosive as the previous story. A nice quiet meal between friends. When it was over, they all piled their dishes in the kitchen sink – Yugi insisted he’d wash them later – and sat back down in the living room.

“Do we want to finish the game?” Jou asked, indicating the _Risk_ board.

“I’m down,” Ryuji said.

“Sure,” Yugi agreed.

“I don’t know,” Anzu said. “Not everyone can play, that seems kind of unfair.”

“I brought something we _all_ can participate in,” Ryou said, and reached under the couch, pulling out the Ouija board. He held it up for the group with a smile.

Before Yugi could protest, there was a series of “oohs” and nodding, from everyone except Jou. He felt his stomach twist up into knots.

“I’m down,” Ryuji said, smiling devilishly.

Jou jumped up from his seat. “Nope. I’m out, goodbye.”

Honda grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back down. “Come on, don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”

“I don’t mess with ghosts, man.”

“It’ll be fun,” Anzu said. Yugi almost snorted.

“Well, it’s Yugi’s house,” Ryou reminded them.

Five twenty-somethings turned their eager heads toward Yugi – eager except for Jou, anyway. Yugi could almost feel the ghost watching him, the air growing colder where he sat. His mind raced for an excuse.

If he said no, he’d disappoint them, _and_ it would be out of character. He’d always jumped at the chance to do creepy stuff with Ryou. If he said “no,” now it would be weird. He didn’t want to use his grandpa as an excuse, either. That was just bad taste. Any other excuse he could come up with would be lame and shoddy. They’d probably just do it anyway.

But if he said _yes_ he might have to confront the ghost in his house _again_. What if it hurt him again? What if it hurt his friends? What if he had to come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t some extended hallucination and there was _actually a ghost in his house_?

“Yugi?” Ryou asked.

Now or never.

He looked around at all the faces of his friends. He remembered that the ghost hadn’t hurt him since the first day, not since he threatened to throw the crown away. He remembered the friendly pat on the head it gave him just that night.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s find ourselves a ghost.”

 


	2. After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again everyone! this story is coming to me a lot faster than i thought, but i don't think i'll be able to finish it by the end of june. don't worry though: i'm still going to be continuing it until the end! thanks for reading <3

“I can barely see,” Jou complained.

“That’s the point of turning the lights off,” Ryou said.

“Then how are we supposed to see the _board_?”

“Shh!”

There came the telltale _click-click-click_ of a lighter, and suddenly the coffee table in the living room was bathed in a dim candlelight. Yugi set the rose-scented candle on one side of the Ouija board, where his friends already had two fingers each touching the planchette. He took another candle from the floor and lit the wick with the lighter.

“Why do you have candles at the ready?” Honda asked.

“My mom got them for me,” Yugi said. “Housewarming gift.”

“We’re seriously misusing this gift,” Jou grumbled. Anzu smacked his arm.

Yugi set the second candle on the table, along with a third. Once the table was sufficiently lit, he set the lighter on the floor and sat on it, across from Ryou – no way he was letting this ghost play with fire. Literally.

“Are we all ready?” Ryou asked.

There was a tangible anticipation in the room as everyone nodded, except Jou, who just groaned and said, “Let’s get it over with.”

Ryou smiled around the table, then nodded at Yugi. “Come on, put your hand in.”

Fighting the urge to say, _No thanks, I’m good_ , Yugi extended his first two fingers and placed them on the front of the planchette, near the point.

“I’ll be the medium, if that’s alright with everyone,” Ryou offered.

“You know the most about this stuff,” Ryuji said.

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

Yugi had never seen his friends so quiet. Even Jou had taken a break from complaining to watch the planchette intensely. Ryou closed his eyes and breathed deep. He could have heard a pin drop in the next room.

 _Okay ghost,_ he willed, not even sure if the spirit could hear him, _you better not hurt my friends. Or me. Don’t hurt me either. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t answer anyth—_

“If there are any spirits willing to commune with us,” Ryou called, eyes still closed, “please make yourself known.”

Nothing happened. A few people shuffled. Yugi could have cried out of relief. Maybe the ghost would leave them alone. Maybe it wasn’t real at all!

He was relieved too soon.

“Guys. _Guys_.”

Honda’s cries were unnecessary. Everyone saw the planchette move slowly to the top of the board, toward Yugi’s side of the table. His breath caught.

“Stop moving it, Ryuji,” Anzu warned, her voice wavering.

“I’m _not_ moving it.”

Ryou cut off the debate. “Thank you for answering,” he said, polite as if he were at a job interview. “Is there one spirit or multiple spirits wishing to commune with us?”

Slowly, the planchette moved across the curved lines of letters. Yugi watched with strained eyes as it spelled out:

 

O. N. E.

 

Well at least he didn’t have to worry about _multiple_ hauntings.

“Which one of you is moving it?” Jou demanded. “It’s not funny anymore.”

“ _I’m_ not moving it,” Anzu insisted.

“I thought _you_ were moving it, Honda,” Ryuji said.

“Not me. Yugi?”

He shook his head. He _wished_ he was moving it.

“Then who is? Ryou?”

They all turned to their white-haired friend. He looked like he was in a trance, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. His mouth was barely parted, but his voice was strong when he spoke.

“Are you a benevolent spirit?” he asked.

Everyone stared, with bulging eyes, as the planchette moved slowly up, up, up. It looked like it was going for the “YES.”

Then it changed course, definitively, sliding over with blinding speed to “NO.” Everyone gasped, choked, made sounds like frightened parakeets. Ryou looked genuinely terrified, eyes wide and panicked.

Yugi’s heart jumped into his throat. “Please tell me one of you did that.”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Why would we—?”

“Oh my god, I have _got_ to get out of here.”

Jou leaned back from the table, but Ryou slapped down on his arm. “Don’t leave. If you break the séance it could be worse.” His expression left no room for debate. “Let me dismiss the spirit first.”

Jou’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and nodded. Ryou let go of him, then returned his focus to the Ouija board. He looked even paler than usual. Yugi had the feeling this wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Are we in danger?” Yugi asked him. Ryou shrugged and opened his mouth.

Before he could answer the planchette started moving. It wasn’t slow or shaking anymore. It slid with deadly precision across the letters, spelling out:

 

N. O. T. Y. E. T.

 

“That—it answered _you_?” Ryou said, his voice shaking. “It should only be able to answer the medium, I don’t understand…”

“Why are you answering me?” Yugi asked into the air.

The planchette stalled for a moment. Then it slid back and forth to spell:

 

D. E. B. T.

 

“Debt?” Yugi whispered.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Honda murmured.

“What debt?” Ryou asked. “What did you do?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” he promised. “Nothing, I swear.”

The planchette moved again.

 

P. R. O. T. E. C. T.

 

“Is it protecting you?” Ryou asked. “Are you protecting it?”

Yugi shrugged helplessly. He had no idea what was going on. What debt was _owed_ to him? Did _he owe_ a debt to the spirit? Why would that warrant protection?

“Protect what?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

The planchette moved lightning fast, repeating the same phrases over and over.

 

P. R. O. T. E. C. T. Y. O. U.  
P. R. O. T. E. C. T. M. E.  
P. R. O. T. E. C. T. Y. O. U.  
P. R. O. T. E. C. T. M. E.

 

“What the fuck?” Anzu whispered.

“What does that _mean_?” Jou demanded. “Ryou?”

But Ryou was shaking his head, his mouth hanging open. He looked completely hopeless. Yugi stiffened as two cold hands crept over his shoulders and gripped tight. A strange tendril tightened around his waist. A hard lump grew in his throat and he tried not to cry out.

The planchette moved.

 

W. E. L. C. O. M. E.  
T. O.  
O. U. R.  
H. O. M. E.

 

With both hands, Ryou slammed the planchette down the board to the section labelled “GOODBYE” and not a moment too soon. A gust of wind rushed through the room and the candles went dark. Someone screamed, everyone was panicking, shouting, asking a dozen questions at once.

Yugi jumped away from the table, frantically swiping at his body like he was covered in insects, trying to rid himself of the cold pressure around his body. It dispersed easily, evaporating into the darkness of the room, but he felt something cold crawl down his spine like ice had been dumped down his shirt.

“The _lights_ ,” someone begged, probably Jou. “Somebody hit the _lights_!”

“I got it!”

Yugi flinched instinctively as Anzu flicked the lightswitch, the living room once again visible. Though what he could see wasn’t pretty.

All his friends were different stages of terrified. Ryou was frozen where he sat, Jou looked like he was ready to punch a hole in the wall or pass out, Ryuji was scooting as far from the coffee table as possible, Anzu was vibrating so hard he thought she might explode. Honda rushed over and grabbed him by the shoulders intensely.

“Did you know that thing was in here?” he asked.

“N-no,” Yugi stammered, hoping his fear would cover up the lie. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You said you found that crown when you moved in right? You don’t know who it belongs to?”

“Yeah, why?”

He let go and straightened himself up. “That’s gotta be what’s keeping the ghost here.”

“ _What_?” Yugi was panicking now, for all the wrong reasons. For the right reasons? He was panicking for so many reasons. “Honda, it’s just a crown—”

“You said it yourself, it’s old and dusty and you don’t know how it got here. It’s the most obviously ghost-y thing in this house besides—” he gestured all around “—the _entire_ house.”

“He’s right, Yugi,” Ryou piped up. He was still sitting in front of the board, watching it out of the corner of his eye as if it might come to life and bite him. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the crown is here as well as the spirit.”

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Jou jumped up from the floor. “We have to get rid of it.”

Yugi paled. “No, guys, it’s just a crown, _really_ —”

“Listen to yourself, Yug’,” Jou interrupted. “It’s like you want it to be here! That’s the ghost talking.”

“We’re getting rid of it,” Honda said, as if it was decided.

 _No, no, no, no_.

He couldn’t let them do this. He _wouldn’t_ let them do this. He remembered what the spirit said:

_PROTECT YOU. PROTECT ME._

It clicked. The spirit would only protect him – and hopefully his friends – if he protected it too. He had to protect the crown. He _had_ to protect that crown. So he did the only thing that came to mind.

He laughed.

He laughed hysterically. He laughed like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the entire world. Tears sprung to his eyes and he laughed even harder. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

“Uh… Yugi?” Anzu asked.

“O-Oh man,” he gasped. “I got you guys _so good_.”

He continued to laugh as all his friends stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"That was _you_?" Ryuji asked, half angry, half impressed.

"You should have seen your faces," he said, continuing to ham it up as much as possible.

"How did you move the planchette so fast?" Ryou questioned, more than a little suspicious.

Yugi "calmed" himself down, wiping at his crocodile tears. "You guys weren't resisting, and that thing is slippery as hell."

"But what about the candles?" Jou asked. "You couldn't have timed that."

He scoffed. "I didn't. This room is drafty. They'd have gone out eventually, but it accidentally turned out _perfect_."

As if to emphasize his point, a cool breeze rushed over them. If it was ghostly in nature, no one could tell but Yugi, as another freezing chill ran across his body. He suppressed a shiver and hoped the ghost would continue holding up its end of their apparent bargain.

"Man," Honda said. "We got schooled."

“Yeah,” Anzu said, laughing and shaking her head. “We really did.”

One by one around the room, everyone grew smiles and started chuckling in spite of themselves, making mocking scared faces at each other, and debating who was the most scared of Yugi’s “super obvious” prank.

“Why don’t we break into that ice cream Honda brought?” he suggested. “I figure you all deserve it after that.”

“Hell yeah we do,” Jou agreed. “Especially me.”

“Oh calm down,” Anzu scoffed. “We’re all getting some.”

“I’ll stay here and clean up,” Yugi said, waving them all towards the kitchen. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

The group filed out of the living room, and Yugi bent over the table to collect his gently used candles and the lighter. He shoved the Ouija board off the to the side, stacking the candles inside each other.

He had grabbed the first two when the third started gently lifting on its own.

“Stop it,” he hissed, snatching the candle away, his fingers brushing against a cold spot. It traveled up his arm and across his shoulders, and he tried not to swat at it. “Don’t touch me.”

“Yugi?”

Coughing to give his words plausible deniability, Yugi smiled at Ryou, who standing in the entrance to the kitchen a little ways away. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Do you want to keep that board? I don’t really have a use for it.”

Yugi side-eyed the Ouija board. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Ryou waved his hand through the air. “Oh it was, but I have at least two others kicking about someplace. If you want it, it’s yours.”

Yugi considered this. It wouldn’t _hurt_ to have something with letters on it, so he and the ghost had more ways to communicate. Oh, what the hell? He’s had worse ideas.

 _Like living in a haunted apartment_? his brain supplied. He shushed himself.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll hang it on the wall as a testament to my amazing prank.”

“Ha! Send me a picture of that.”

“You got it.”

Ryou turned back to the kitchen, but Yugi could have sworn there was a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Just enough for him to notice.

He swallowed. Put it out of his mind. He had enough to worry about already.

 

 

“Bye, Yugi!”

“See ya, Yug’.”

“Later, man.”

“Goodnight, Yugi.”

“Bye!”

Yugi stood in the threshold of his front door, smiling and waving to his exiting friends, carefully hopping their way down his rickety stairs. “Drive safe,” he called. “Goodnight!”

He watched their cars start, the headlights pouring onto the street, and drive off, one by one until they were all gone. So he was positive no one was around to hear him.

Yugi dropped his smile, replacing it with a frustrated frown and shut and locked the front door. He turned around, and called into the house, “I’m going to take a shower, and then you and I need to talk.” A gentle wind ruffled his hair. He mussed it up like he was shaking out dandruff. “And will you _stop_?”

He stalked across the house, ignoring any imploring cold spot, to his room. He stripped bare as angrily as he could without ripping his clothes off like Superman, snatching pajamas and going across the hall to the bathroom. As he shut the door, he huffed.

“Okay, Yugi,” he muttered to himself. “Calm.”

He dropped his pajamas on a chair near the sink, and hopped into the frosted glass standing shower. It was the newest thing in the house, and he was forever grateful for it.

He turned the knobs to somewhere between, “hot,” and “boil me like a lobster,” and let himself stand under the burning water to cover himself in soap and wash away all his stress. Which was an ordeal.

As the night had worn on, everyone eating ice cream, talking, _finally_ finishing that game of _Risk_ (Yugi won, to no one’s surprise), the ghost’s touches had grown more persistent, common, and _annoying._ It was constantly blowing air into his face, sending chills up his arms, basically anything to get on his nerves. Not to mention this behavior had suddenly appeared after it had scared him – and all his friends – half to death. It had announced itself as a _malicious spirit_. It had that he was only safe if he protected it. How in the world was he _supposed_ to feel, if not angry?

Well, he wasn’t just angry. He was scared.

He leaned on the shower wall, breathing in the steam from the hot water, halfheartedly massaging shampoo into his hair. Yugi was scared, and he felt he had a right to be. He had thought he and the ghost were starting to get along, too. And now this thing had outright _said_ he was in danger if it didn’t help him. It had threatened him and his friends, and _he_ had to take the fall for it, because this thing obviously couldn’t speak for itself.

 _“Protect you/protect me” my ass_ , he thought. What kind of “protection,” was “I’ll let you live if you help me”? It was a fear tactic, that’s what it was. It was something to make him afraid. And it was working. _Of course_ he was scared. He was in one of the worst parts of the city, he lived alone, had just lost his job, and now there was a _ghost_ involved, too?

He sighed, retreating back under the water to rinse his hair. He had almost forgotten about the job thing. He was going to have to start the hunt. Again. At least this place’s rent was cheap.

Cheap, because it was literally haunted. He wondered if that’s why the landlord hadn’t given him any of the place’s history. Maybe there _wasn’t_ a history. Maybe this place has been haunted since it was built, and the old battered “FOR RENT” sign that he’d seen while driving through the worst parts of Domino had been there for decades, waiting for a sucker like him to take the bait. Maybe the ghost and the landlord had a conspiracy to kill every tenant they ever had, to sustain the darkness of some evil god.

He snorted at himself. This thing was going to drive him insane.

“Stupid ghost,” he muttered.

The knob turned, and suddenly the water coming out of the shower head was ice cold. Yugi yelped and jumped back as far as he could, then scowled at nothing in particular.

“Seriously?” he said, making _plenty_ sure the ghost could hear him. “In the _shower_?”

The knob stayed where it was. Yugi dragged a hand down his face. “Fine.”

He took one last rinse, making sure all the soap was out of his hair, and turned the water off. He opened the door and grabbed his towel from where it hung on the other side, wrapping it around his waist and securing it there. His wet hair was plastered to his cheeks, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“If you want to make this work,” he started, “we’re going to have to set some _boundaries_ , okay?”

The ghost was silent, so he kept going.

“You _scared_ me today. You scared me a _lot_ , and you scared my friends. I’m not going to let that slide, and you can’t make up for it by blowing in my face or whatever. If you’re going to ‘protect’ me, you’re going to have to do a lot better than just promising that you won’t hurt me. How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to feel _safe_?”

He stopped to wait for a response. Nothing was forthcoming. He grit his teeth.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, you know. You just being—” he waved his arms all around, “—invisible and shit. We need to _communicate_. I _have_ to know more about you than just that you’ve agreed not to kill me if I don’t touch your stupid crown.” He put his hands up in mock surrender and rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Yeah, I called it stupid, I don’t care what you think about that. But no matter _what_ you think about me, I’m going to be living here for a while, because I don’t have a choice. I promise I want to get out of here as much as you want me out of here. So until I _can_ get out of here, and leave you to whatever ghost shit you get up to, I want to know that I _will_ live. And I want to know a _lot_ more than that. You know everything about me, and I don’t even know your name!”

Finished with his rant, Yugi crossed his arms and waited. He was going to count back from sixty, and if the ghost didn’t say anything, he was going to stop acknowledging it until it starting cooperating. He did not have the time or patience for this petulant supernatural bullshit.

He had counted back to forty-three when he heard a squeaking on the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked over and saw an invisible finger writing in the fog that had coalesced on the glass. At first, he wasn’t sure what to make of it – it didn’t even look like a word – but when the finger stopped writing, he realized it was a _name_. In spite of himself, a smile slowly crawled across his face.

“Atem Al Sadat, huh?” he said, reading off the mirror. “Nice to meet you finally.”

There wasn’t much remaining room to write on the mirror, but the ghost, Atem, made quite an effort.

 _It is nice to meet you too_ , was the very squished message.

“Isn’t this nice?” Yugi gestured to the mirror. “See what happens when you use your words… sir?”

A smaller message was scrawled under the second: _Yes_.

He could have laughed out loud, but forced himself to remember why he was asking all these questions in the first place. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can actually have a conversation. Okay?”

Atem circled his _yes_ message, which Yugi took mean he was alright with it. He started to undo his towel, and then remembered… he wasn’t _really_ alone in here.

“Can I have some privacy?” he asked. “Please?”

A gust of wind – or, more accurately, Atem – rushed past him, the bathroom door opening a slight crack and closing just as quickly.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping his towel to the floor and grabbing his clothes from where they sat on the chair. He tried not to think about the fact that Atem must have been _in the shower_ with him to turn the knob colder.

It was strange giving the ghost a name. It was even stranger believing in ghosts. But there was nothing as strange as knowing he was going to be _roommates_ with a ghost for the foreseeable future.

He pulled on his over-sized t-shirt and flannel pants and combed through his hair with his fingers. He was going to regret not combing it properly in the morning, but right now, there were more important things on his mind than hair care.

He stepped out of the bathroom and said into the empty hallway, “Meet me in the living room, I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t stop to feel a gust of wind before he whisked himself back to his room, and to his desk. He fumbled around his set-up until he found a notepad and a pen that worked before rushing out to the living room and plopping down on the couch. A cool wind on his face let him know that Atem was sitting to his right. Invisibly, of course.

“Since I know you can write now,” he said, setting the pen and paper down on the table. “The Ouija board is kind of irrelevant.” He picked up the occult board from where it sat on the table, untouched since the séance, and slid it and the planchette under the couch. They wouldn’t be needing it, after all.

When he popped his head up from organizing the table, he saw something floating in front of his face in midair. It was a sleeve of playing cards. It shook back and forth like a question.

“Cards?” Yugi asked. “You want to play cards?”

Atem decided to take his question as a yes, and dumped the deck out of the box, all of it still floating. He started shuffling them, but without hands, it looked like they were shuffling themselves. Yugi blinked.

“Whoa, slow down,” he said. “We’re supposed to be _talking_ , remember?”

The cards stopped shuffling. Atem set the deck down on the table and picked up the pen and paper, scribbling on it for only a short while before turning it toward Yugi: _1 round won = 1 question asked_.

“I guess we can do that,” Yugi said. “But the person answering the questions _has_ to answer honestly, no matter the question.”

There was a long pause between Atem taking the notepad back and writing down his next answer. It was like he was considering his options.

Whatever he was thinking about, Yugi would never know, as the ghost’s next message was: _Agreed._

“What game did you want to play?”

Atem pushed the deck across the table toward him. _Dealer’s choice_.

Yugi picked up the cards, feeling the edges between his fingers. What was a good two player card game with rounds?

“Do you know how to play Egyptian Rat-screw?” he asked.

Atem’s next message was just a question mark.

“It’s kind of like Beggar-My-Neighbor—”

His explanation was cut off as Atem started furiously scribbling on the notepad. _I love that game!!_

“Beggar-My-Neighbor it is, then.”

As Yugi dealt the cards, he started thinking up questions to ask, not the least of which was _When did you die_? Egyptian Rat-screw wasn’t a new game, if it spawned from something as old as Beggar-My-Neighbor. The crown _did_ look like it was pretty old, but how could something so old be kept in such precise condition?

When all the cards we dealt, he gestured to the floating notepad beside him. “After you.”

The top card of Atem’s deck flipped itself over to reveal the King of Spades.

“Did I even shuffle this deck?” Yugi snorted, paying out the allotted cards.

Unfortunately, none of them were face cards. Atem swiped up the “deck” of four, and tucked them into the bottom of his deck. Yugi sat back on the couch, facing the ghost at his side. “Ask me anything.” _But nothing weird, please_.

The pen hovered above the page for a short time before the question was written and revealed. _What happened to your grandfather?_

Oh.

That wasn’t what he expected.

He stared into his hands.

“He had a stroke two weeks ago,” Yugi said, trying to be short without sounding angry. “He died.”

The notepad nudged his shoulder. _I am sorry for your loss_.

“Thank you.”

Yugi gave himself a moment of silence before sitting back up. “You again, I think.”

Atem flipped over a card – a number card this time. Yugi flipped over his, also a number card.

They traded numbers back and forth for a little while, Yugi finally landing on Atem with an Ace that he couldn’t escape from. He swiped up the _significantly_ larger portion of the cards and sorted through the questions he’d prepared.

“You said you _weren’t_ a benevolent spirit during the party,” he started. “Does that mean you’re malicious?”

Thinking back, the ghost he was sitting with right now didn’t seem like the kind to do _any_ of the things he’d done during the séance. He felt like a completely different person.

The notepad was turned his way. _I am not malicious, but I will protect what is mine at any cost. This does not fit the definition of benevolence your friend was asking of me, does it?_

Yugi chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I guess not.”

They continued their game, flipping card after card, and as Yugi analyzed everything Atem had done up until that point, he was sure the ghost was doing the same to him. They were sizing each other up. This card game was a stare down. They were seeing who blinked first.

The next round was Atem’s. _Are you afraid of me_?

“I answered as much earlier. Yes, I am.” He laughed shortly. “I mean, you nearly choked me to death in the kitchen. And then today – can you blame me?”

 _But I said I would protect you_.

“Yeah, you said you would protect me as long as I protected you. The crown is yours, obviously.”

 _It is_.

“So what happens if I stop protecting it – and you, by extension? Am I fair game?”

There was a long pause from the ghost. _I will answer that on your next win_.

“Fair enough.”

They returned to the cards, and every time Yugi flipped over a card, he hoped for a face. He needed that question answered as soon as possible. If not during this game, then the next time he “saw” Atem. Just. _Quickly_.

Unfortunately, the next round belonged to Atem as well. Yugi watched the ghost rake in half his deck, easily. He hoped that the other half was full of face cards.

The next question was revealed: _Why did you come here_?

“I needed a place to stay after I lost my job and I didn’t want to leave Domino. This place was cheap and convenient.”

 _What is Domino_?

Yugi blinked. “The… city we’re in. It’s called Domino.”

 _The name I remember is_ Shiroikai.

“ _Shiroikai_? I think that was Domino’s name two-hundred years ago or something.”

Well that narrowed down an area of time for Atem to have _died_ in, at least.

When the ghost was not forthcoming, Yugi gestured for him to flip the card on the top of his deck. He did, and the game continued.

It didn’t take long for Yugi to finally find his face cards. He took out Atem with a queen, and gathered up the center deck.

“Well, that question from before still stands. Will you kill me if I stop protecting the crown? And you?”

Atem took his time scribbling on the notepad. He even resorted to crossing out lines, flipping the page over to start fresh. When his final answer was finally revealed, it took Yugi a minute to read it all.

_I would not kill you if you were to simply leave. You would not endanger me by doing that, and it would give me no pleasure to do such a thing. In fact, I have no wish to hurt you at all. I would have you perish the thought. But if you, or someone else, endangers me by endangering my crown, I will have no choice but to defend myself. This is not something I enjoy doing, but it is necessary for me to continue existing._

A dozen more questions flew into Yugi’s mind, and it pained him to be unable to ask them all. Why did the crown endanger him? Why couldn’t he just keep the crown somewhere hidden, so no one could find it? Why did he _need_ to keep existing? Didn’t he want to die for real? Pass on? Did he have unfinished business in the living world first?

“Okay,” was what he said instead.

As if reading his mind – _Could he read minds?_ – Atem scribbled an extra note on the notepad. _I understand this is confusing, but it is not something I intend to explain in one night. If you prove yourself trustworthy to me, I will tell you more, but not before_.

Yugi set his jaw. Wasn’t he already proving he was trustworthy by _not_ kicking the crown out a window? But he conceded the ghost his ground. All in due time.

The game of Beggar-My-Neighbor continued. Yugi almost explained the rules of Egyptian Rat-screw before he remembered that Atem didn’t have hands, which he would need to slap the deck convincingly. Then again, he did seem to have a pretty strong grip when he felt like it. _That_ was another question for his list.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for another turn. Very soon into the round, Yugi set a Jack that Atem lost to. He gathered up the meager deck, and asked the first question to hop onto his tongue.

“If you have a crown, were you royalty in life?”

This answer was quicker and shorter. _Yes. For a brief time, I was the king of Egypt._

Yugi couldn’t help his mouth dropping open. “King? Like a pharaoh?”

_No, I was long after the pharaohs._

Not a pharaoh. But still a _king_. There was a _dead_ _king_ living in his house.

“What’s an Egyptian king doing all the way in Japan?”

 _I have no idea_.

“Didn’t you die here?”

 _No_.

Well. That was _another_ question to add to his exponentially growing number. He flipped over a card. “Another round?”

Atem answered by flipping over one of his own. And so the game continued.

Sitting there, playing a card game with a ghost, Yugi was growing more and more sure that the séance had been some kind of fluke. Atem was _nothing_ like the spirit they encountered with the Ouija board – he wasn’t menacing, creepy, mysterious, _anything_ like the thing that had him fearing for his life. He was kind of weird, but he was also polite and kind. He had power, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person to ever _use_ it. In the short time they had gotten to know each other, he could almost see himself being _friends_ with Atem.

He slapped down a King, and two cards in, Atem drew a Queen. Yugi put down two more cards and cursed. Numbers only. Atem collected the deck and proposed his next question.

_Why were your friends so fearful of me when I welcomed them?_

“When you what?” Yugi raced through his memory to find just when, exactly, Atem had _welcomed_ his friends. Wait… “The board?” he asked. “The whole ‘Welcome to our home’ thing?”

_Yes. Why did that scare them?_

Suddenly, the whole thing clicked for Yugi. Atem hadn’t been threatening them at all. He was trying to be _nice_. The whole time, he was trying to be polite and answer their questions as they were asked. _Oh my God, this can’t be happening_ , he thought. _I’m rooming with King Casper the Friendly Ghost._

“Atem,” he said, and if the ghost had a visible shoulder, he would have patted it, “we have really got to work on your presentation. Because that _whole thing_ was terrifying.”

After a short explanation of why saying “not yet” when someone asks if they’re in danger is not an appropriate thing to say, why the word “DEBT” by itself is sinister, and why he should probably just stick to calling himself benevolent unless he had explicitly unfriendly intentions toward somebody, Atem was feeling pretty guilty about why his “conversation” with Yugi and his friends didn’t go well.

“It’s alright,” Yugi reassured him. “They all think I did it, so it’s no big deal. They don’t even know you exist.”

Atem started to write something, but crossed it out. He flipped over the top card in his hand and the game resumed.

The next round went long, and Yugi snatched the win away after a particularly long trade of face cards. It was looking like he’d take the game if he got lucky and Atem didn’t have any more streaks of face cards.

“How did you die?” he asked.

 _I was assassinated_.

Yugi instantly felt bad about asking. Maybe there _was_ merit to Atem staying in the living world for a bit longer.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

_It is alright. You had no way to know._

“Still, sorry for bringing it up. It’s probably a painful memory.”

_I hardly remember the event itself. I believe I was killed in my sleep._

Yugi tsk-ed. “Coward.”

 _Indeed_.

“Well it goes to show how great a king you were if people were too scared to kill you while you were awake.”

_That is an interesting perspective._

“I’m an optimist.”

 _I have gathered as much_.

“What do you mean?”

_You choose to live in a home with a ghost instead of leaving as soon as you discovered me. You are choosing to get along with me instead of giving in to your fear. It is a remarkable thing._

Was he being complimented by a ghost?

“Thanks,” Yugi said. “You’re pretty easy to get along with.”

Did he just compliment a ghost?

 _Thank you_.

Apparently so.

Yugi flipped over the card on the top of his deck to continue the game so he could think about something else. The game point was upon them. They traded cards back and forth, numbers and faces, riding by the skin of their teeth until –

Yugi laid an Ace, and the ghost had only one card left: the ten of hearts.

Atem had blinked.

“Good game,” Yugi said, picking up his full deck of cards and slipping it back into the box.

 _Good game_.

“I know you don’t really have hands, but…” Yugi stuck out his hand. A cold set of fingers wrapped around his own, and they moved slowly up and down before retreating.

Yugi tossed the cards onto the table and yawned. “Bedtime,” he announced.

The notepad nudged him as he stood up. _Are you not going to ask your last question?_

Oh yeah. He won a round, so he still had one question.

“Sure,” he said, running through his list one last time. There wasn’t any question he had that wouldn’t just spawn more questions. All except one. “Do you want to do this again sometime? The game, I mean?”

_I would._

Yugi smiled. One less thing to worry about, and a lot more questions to be answered soon. “Goodnight, then.”

 _Goodnight_.

He shuffled off to his room, turning off the lights as he went, and tucking himself into his bed. In the green-ish light from the glow in the dark stars, he saw the door slide open and shut quietly. Some papers on his desk rustled. He ignored them.

It was only a ghost, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atem: welcome to our home :)  
> everyone: HIODHUHSRKLGJDFGKJHKSJLDKLHJGHJKS  
> atem: um. okay.


	3. Amusement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy end of puzzlejune everyone! i wanted to get at least a little fluffy before the month is over!! i had to fit SOOOO much into this chapter but it was all worth it, and i promise there *is* a plot. 
> 
> thanks for all the SUPER nice comments i've been getting on this, i love you all and send you virtual hugs and/or high fives. eat vegetables, drink water, stay in school.

Yugi stretched his arm up, stood on his toes, and even hopped a little, but it was useless. He was too short. How had he even gotten his spices on the top shelf in the first place? He slumped back down to Earth, scowling at his stir fry sizzling away on the stove, tragically unseasoned.

“Atem?” he asked. “I could use some help over here.”

The cold spot that had been hanging behind him since he started cooking, floated to his side and above his head.

“The top one,” he encouraged. “With the little—yeah that one.”

He watched the little wire basket that held all his spices float down from the too-high shelf to rest on the countertop next to him.  

“Thanks, you’ve saved my dinner.” Atem gave him a little pat on the right shoulder, which was part of their invisible shorthand for “you’re welcome.”

The ghost had expressed a desire to communicate _without_ carrying the big yellow notepad – which had been designated “Atem’s notepad” very quickly – at all times, so they’d come up with very basic language for him to use when he didn’t feel like writing everything down. Right tap was “you’re welcome,” left tap was “thank you,” ruffling Yugi’s hair meant “yes,” and squeezing his arm meant “no.” They had tried to come up with some more complex ones, but there were only so many things Atem could do that didn’t feel the same to his living friend. Their non-notepad conversations tended to be pretty short.

“What are you thinking?” he mused, setting out two spice jars. “Garlic salt or red pepper?” Atem picked up the red pepper and shook it like a maraca. Yugi nodded and plucked it out of the air. “Me too. It could use some spice.”

They had work arounds, of course.

Yugi was getting more used to living with a ghost than he thought he ever would. Everything he did around the house accounted for Atem being there, and he often asked the opinion of his invisible roommate when it came to things that would impact them both – what music to play, what color he should paint the walls, what game to play. He’d even started to recognize Atem’s taste (classical, bright colors, anything that involved strategy) the longer they spent around each other. Which, as his continued unemployment ensured, was quite a lot.

He was going to have to find a job soon, though. He couldn’t live off his reserves forever, and no matter how cheap this place was, it wasn’t _nothing_. He still had to make rent, and the shrinking numbers in his bank account only made that problem more obvious.

“I think it’s about done,” he said, mostly to himself, but he tended to think out loud no matter what these days.

He cut off the heat and stirred his meal one last time, sneaking a bit of rice for himself with his chopsticks.

“That red pepper was a good choice,” he declared, this time talking deliberately to Atem. The ghost sent a breath of wind through his hair and tapped his right shoulder again. Yugi rolled his eyes  good naturedly. “I know, I know, you’re a genius in the kitchen. Apologies, Your _Majesty_.” He bowed mockingly in the ghost’s general direction.

He got a hard squeeze on the arm for that one. Atem hated being referred to as royal – even though he was, as Yugi was quick to point out. And now that Yugi _knew_ he hated it, it only made him look for more excuses to use the “embarrassing” title.

“Technically, this is your fault,” he said. “You’re the one who told me you were a king.”

Atem gave him a pat on the left shoulder that was more like a shove – his equivalent of a sarcastic “thanks.”

Yugi brought down a plate from a nearby cabinet. “You’re _very_ welcome.”

If Atem had a throat to scoff with, he would have. Instead, he swept out of the kitchen so dramatically that it ruffled Yugi’s clothes and cooled the steam on his stir fry. Yugi burst out laughing, and called, “Drama queen!” out of the room.

As he dumped his dinner onto the plate, he couldn’t help but shake his head in fond exasperation. For a dead guy, Atem was livelier than most of the people he’d met in his life, and more human than what horror flicks had suggested ghosts were like. It was jarring to suddenly go from laughing at the concept of ghosts to becoming friends with one, but Yugi was pretty okay with it. No, he was more than okay with it. He really _liked_ being friends with a ghost – this particular one, anyway. He couldn’t speak for all ghosts.

He balanced his plate and chopsticks in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other as he made his way out of the kitchen and to the dinner table in the opposite corner of the living room from the couch. When he got there, Atem’s notepad was floating there, flipped open to a page and waiting for him. Yugi read it as he sat down: _Would you like to play another game of Street Fighter tonight_?

“Ooh, for game night,” he said. “Sure. Ready for me to kick your ass again?”

 _An unlikely scenario_.

“That’s what you said the _last_ time I kicked your ass.” He smugly chewed on a vegetable as he waited for the ghost’s response.

 _I have a new strategy this time_.

Yugi talked around his food. “Picking Blanka and spamming his lighting isn’t a strategy.”

_Very funny._

He stuck his tongue out between his teeth and smiled. Then he lifted the current page of the notepad to check the supply. The result: not much.

“Man, this thing is getting low,” he said. “You’re going to need another one pretty soon.”

_This can last me a short while._

“Yeah, emphasis on _short_. I’ll get you another one when I go shopping next.”

_Thank you :)_

Yugi’s chewing slowed to a stop as he read the latest message. Was that what he thought it was? And was _Atem_ doing it?

“Where did you learn about emoticons?” he asked, and realized that his roommate of two hundred years probably wouldn’t know that word. “The little faces?”

 _From you_. _I saw you speaking to your friends on your ~~fone~~ ~~pone~~ ~~fohn~~ phone and I liked them!_

That was oddly flattering. “There are a bunch of other cool ones I can show you if you want.” The paper was practically shoved onto his plate at the suggestion, pen wiggling impatiently. “Okay, okay,” Yugi laughed. “Hold on.”

He took to writing with one hand and eating with the other, drawing tiny little faces in the notepad wherever they would fit, everything from :D to :^/ to x_x, and even a few complex ones that he remembered how to draw correctly. Atem was ecstatic every time, fluttering the pages when he saw one he liked in particular.

 _Wow_ , Yugi thought. _He’s adorable_.

He pressed the pen to the paper. Then stopped.

Did he seriously just think that?

It wasn’t _wrong_ , technically, but it was also weird. Atem was dead and a ghost. And _well_ over two hundred. Was Yugi _seriously_ —?

No. No he wasn’t. Again, that would just be weird. He furrowed his brow and blinked, like that would clear his mind. It didn’t. 

So focused on making sure he wasn’t being weird, to himself, in his own mind, he didn’t even notice the pen slip from his hand. He started when the corner of the notepad poked his arm.

 _Are you alright?_ read a new message underneath all the smiley faces.

“O-oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Yugi insisted. “I was just thinking about something else.” _Please don’t ask._

 _Is it about your job search_?

Perfect. Just let him come up with his own conclusions. It’s not like Yugi _hasn’t_ been thinking about his lack of job at every moment of the day.

He sighed and threw a hand across his eyes. “If I have to write one more cover letter, I’m going to explode.”

Atem gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. _You will find a place to work eventually. For now, try to relax. There is no sense in stirring yourself up over something you cannot change._

Yugi side-eyed the empty air next to him with a curious smile. “Since when do you have overflowing stress advice?”

 _I read one of your books on the subject. They are quite fascinating_.

“When did you have time to read that?”

 _While you were applying for jobs this week_.

He thought back – that _had_ been all he was doing this week, with little breaks in between to eat and sleep. But really not much else. Not even talking to his roommate.

“I’ve kind of been ignoring you, haven’t I?” he realized.

_You have been busy._

It was a fair point, but Yugi still felt bad about it. “Maybe I do need a break.”

 _Why not start tonight_?

Yeah. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. Getting a break.

“You’re just _so_ ready to lose at Street Fighter, aren’t you?” he taunted.

_So confident…_

“Are you chastising me?”

 _I prefer to call it a gentle reprimand_.

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I was going to go easy on you to apologize, but now I don’t think I will.”

_And I would not have it any other way ;)_

Yugi looked at that emoticon and laughed, simultaneously feeling like it was going to come back and bite him in the ass somehow.

 

 

“Stop winning,” Yugi demanded, mashing buttons like his life depended on it.

Sitting on the floor in the living room, Atem couldn’t answer him with either of their methods, notepad sitting face-down on the ground and “hands” occupied with a controller. The buttons clicked and the joystick moved without anything seeming to push them, but Yugi knew the truth. And that truth was turning him into a pulp.

“God _dammit_ ,” he hissed as he got pummeled into the dirt, blocking just in time to counter the next round of punches. The pulsing of his fully charged special attack meter was aggravating, and even more so knowing he couldn’t activate it.

He had to get some distance from Atem to use his special, but of course the ghost knew that. He’d picked a character that got up close and personal, never giving him any room to breathe. Every time he thought he’d found an opening, it was snatched away, replaced with a fist that was _literally_ on fire.

Yugi’s health was steadily decreasing, and for every hit he got on Atem, the ghost found two more. Soon, it was inevitable. He was going to lose if he didn’t do something. _Fuck it_.

He hopped back twice until he was on the edge of the screen, and pressed the special attack combo at least fifty times, his character’s hands roaring with blue energy. He could taste victory. He could _do_ this. It was _one_ hit.

His character released a shock of electricity, Atem’s character just within reach.

And then wasn’t.

Yugi’s mouth dropped open as the avatar jumped and stuck the landing in front of him, striking two quick hits—

“No!” Yugi cursed. “ _No_ , goddamn you, how did you dodge that?”

The game blinked a VICTORY message over Atem’s dancing character, and a LOSER message over his dead character. But he was hardly paying attention, eyes burning into the spot where his ghost companion sat scribbling out a response. He couldn’t tell if he was angry about losing or astounded that Atem had pulled off that last-minute dodge in the first place.

_I told you I had a new strategy._

"That wasn't a strategy! Those were twitch reflexes, you can't strategize _reflexes_. That was _insane_." He was definitely leaning more toward impressed at this point.

 _Perhaps my new strategy was getting better at the game_.

"It certainly helps, but I wouldn't call it a strategy."

 _Anything can be a strategy if it aids your victory_.

Yugi punched the rematch button. “We’re going again.”

Instead of responding, the ghost put down the notepad and accepted the rematch. The game brought them back to the character select screen, and Atem surprised his living companion by selecting the same character has he had in the previous round. Yugi raised his brows, the gears already turning.

If Atem’s strategy was just to “be good,” then there shouldn’t be any problem with him picking a different character. It wasn’t smart to keep playing the same character every time, it was easier to predict. _Unless_ …

Unless he thought he was secure in another win.

There was _no way_ his strategy was just “being good.” There had to be more to it than that.

“You’re doing something,” he muttered. “I don’t know what it is yet, but you’re _doing_ something.” Atem gave him a lazy pat on the arm. _Nooo,_ he seemed to say, _I’m perfectly innocent._ Yugi shrugged him off. “I’m not falling for that.”

If Atem was so secure in a win that he thought it would be safe to pick the same character – essentially a death sentence in a game like this – then he must expect Yugi to not have an idea for a counter, or have a plan that he _assumed_ had no counter. A ballsy move, one almost certainly to be his downfall, but only if Yugi could figure out what that plan was. And then figure out how to beat it.

Well he knew one thing for sure: Atem liked to fight up close and personal. No way he was forgetting that. Yugi picked another close-range fighter and the next round begun. Their health bars filled to the top, the classic “FIGHT!” splashed on the screen.

Their characters bobbed for a good ten seconds, neither of them risking the first attack.

“After you,” Yugi finally said, and the ghost obliged.

They traded blows back and forth, Yugi playing on the defense as Atem wailed on him, move after move. He definitely had an _aggressive_ style, but it wasn’t without its grace. All his moves cancelled animations into each other, linking together in one seamless combo after another. Yugi was holding his own, getting in a few quick hits now and then. He was consistently taking off decent chunks of health a bit at a time and countering a few of the more exorbitant combos, but Atem kept on coming, focusing less on building his meter, and more on whittling him down.

Yugi jumped into the air and landed behind him, landing another swift strike and taking off a decent chunk of health before the ghost came at him furiously once again, making it so he had to counter, block, or die.

 _If I don’t figure this out, I’m done for_ , he thought. _I guess I could use my special to bide myself some time._

Atem was seriously backing him into a corner here. He couldn’t afford to keep dodging forever, and soon he’d have to—

Wait.

“You’re baiting me,” he blurted. “You sneaky son of a—you’re _baiting_ me.”

A quick glance to the bottom of the screen told him all he needed to know. Atem’s charged meter was full… but he _hadn’t used it yet_.

Come to think of it, it would have been child’s play for Atem to take him out in the previous round with a special. But he hadn’t used it _once_ , letting Yugi think he had the upper hand, and slapping it away. Letting him panic about losing, force him to use his special, and then killing him _instantly_.

“You—” he interrupted himself with an exasperated laugh. “You’re good, but I’ve got you now.”

Oh, he’d _definitely_ figured it out. Atem had started playing on the defensive, trying to switch it up, but it was too late. Yugi knew what he was after, and now he knew how to play around it.

Their roles from that point on effectively swapped, Yugi going in on the offense and Atem doing most of the countering. Even then, the ghost made a point of making every hit he landed count against Yugi’s health significantly. If this were a normal game, he would have used his special ages ago to try and level the playing field. Now he knew better than to give in to that impulse, at least for the time being. 

And yet, Atem was still trying to force him to use it, expertly darting away at the last second, expecting a special that would never come. Yugi snorted at the obvious display.

“You want it _so_ bad, don’t you?” he taunted. “Well _tough luck_.” He slammed down onto the ghost’s character, determined to win. He could definitely beat Atem without the special, he had no doubt. All he had to do was stay alive.

He looked at his drained health. Easier said than done.

They were neck in neck now, health bars evenly matched, neither of them willing to give up the ghost. They dodged and combo’d and pressed every button on their controllers like they were getting paid for it. The room was filled with the clatter of plastic. It was anyone’s game.

Yugi dodged a swift uppercut, ducking back in for a body hit, but it was blocked. A foot swept into the air, kicking his character in the chin and sending him spiraling to the ground, dazed.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Yugi muttered under his breath, mashing the one button that might save him.

Atem’s character lit up blue, the telltale sign of a special attack. He finished off Yugi’s prone character with a quick chain combo that couldn’t possibly be dodged.

A familiar LOSER message appeared on screen.

Yugi could have _thrown_ the controller out a window, but instead he jumped to his feet and pointed emphatically at the screen. “You used your special, I—ugh! How much of that were you counting on?”

 _I had not counted on any of it. But once I knew you were not going to use your special attack_—

There was more, but Yugi didn’t even bother reading it. “You knew it would be safe to use your own, _dammit_.” He sat back down with a huff and crossed his arms. “If you weren’t dead already, I’d kill you right now.”

A swirling gust of wind hit him in the face, ruffling his clothes and hair, which he knew was a ghostly laugh. He laughed at himself, too, tossing the controller to the side, flexing his fingers.

“My hands are starting to cramp up,” he confessed, “so I think it’s time to call it a night.”

_Okay! ^.^_

Yugi stood up and got busy turning off the game, console, and TV, definitely not ignoring that extremely normal smiley face, that held no significance to him at all. It was the least interesting thing ever, in fact. He had absolutely no thoughts on the subject. None.

“When did you come up with that baiting thing?” he asked.

 _Not long ago. I noticed that the characters have a slight delay in movement that makes them vulnerable for short time when activating a special move_.

“Damn, it took me forever to figure that out. Good eye.”

_Thank you! :D_

Yugi walked as casually as possible to his room, chattering blithely about different fighting game strategies, if only to fill up his mind with something else. Not that he was thinking about anything else. There wasn’t anything to think about. It was just a happy face. That’s all. No thoughts about it. Zero adjectives apply.

Atem plopped the notepad on the desk when they both got into the bedroom, Yugi changing by his closet. He’d since stopped caring about modesty. They were roommates – it was inevitable.

“I think I’ll go to the store tomorrow,” he decided. “To pick up another notepad for you.”

 _You do not have to_.

“I have to go eventually. Besides,” he plopped down on his bed, “if you’re going to keep filling that thing up with emoticons, you’ll run out in two days.”

_> :(_

Yugi snorted, and rolled over onto one side. “Goodnight.”

He hoped the light from his glow in the dark stars was dim enough to obscure the fact he was hiding his face, along with a smile.

 

 

Alright. Fine. Atem was cute. Yugi would let himself have that one guilty pleasure of an opinion. But it was awfully rude of the ghost to keep _reminding_ him about it.

It all started when Yugi brought home the new notepad for his voiceless roommate to write on. He'd picked up one with a smiling cartoon ghost on every page, both for the hilariously accurate way it was going to be used and because it was on sale. Atem loved it, of course, and took the liberty of writing his name on the cardboard back, just in case. 

"What do you want to do with the old one?" Yugi asked, picking up the used notepad and absentmindedly flipping through the pages. He smiled at the half-conversations..

 _Do whatever you like! ^_^_  was the first message written on the fresh paper. 

"I mean, we should keep it, right?" he said, sitting down on the couch, still engrossed in the ghostly scribbling. "For posterity's sake."

_You can publish it and make millions._

"Ha! Yeah right. Maybe we can make a scrapbook or something."

_What is that?_

"It's a big book of things you want to remember."

_That sounds nice. :)_

"Mhmm."

A cold brush against his side told him that Atem had come to sit beside him on the couch. He angled his body to the side, so they could both read over the heavily inked pages. Yugi had gotten used to assuming that Atem had eyes like a normal person and accommodating for them, even if it wasn't true. 

"You sure doodle a lot," he commented, pointing out a few tiny drawings of flowers, stars, and formless swirls.

_I have to do something to keep myself occupied. _

Yugi would have responded, something snarky landing on the tip of his tongue, but he flipped the page and every word he could have ever said died in his throat.

There weren't any words on the sheet – front or back – and none on the next page either. Instead, there were intricately detailed illustrations drawn in black ballpoint pen, a few smudges revealing where a hand might have gone across the page. Drawings of the house, of a game controller, of board game pieces, of the crown, and…

Of Yugi.

He only had _seconds_ to scan over the drawings before the notepad was snatched away by an invisible hand. 

"Whoa, hold on," he protested, reaching for notepad floating above his head. "I didn't know you could draw."

Still holding his art hostage, Atem wrote his response on his new notepad. _It has been a long time._

"And?" He was still trying to get the drawings back, but the ghost was moving the notepad all around, just out of reach.

_They are not very good._

Yugi snapped to attention when he read that, temporarily forgetting about the confiscated drawings. "Are you kidding me? Atem, those were _beautiful._ "

He didn't respond, but the old notepad was lowered slightly.

"Can I look at them? Please?" He reached tentatively for the art.

If the ghost could have grumbled, he would have. The notepad was lowered to a reasonable height and passed off, drawings face down.

"Thank you.” 

Yugi flipped over the notepad, and ran his fingers across the ink lined pages. The first drawing was of the porch – he'd recognize those rickety stairs anywhere. From the perspective of the threshold of the front door looking down, he could see every step down from the house, every vine growing up through the cracks, every loose nail, every board that had pulled up from age.

Below that, there was a rough sketch of the crown, though even "rough" was still nearly photorealistic, and looked like something Yugi would never be able to draw in a hundred years.

" _This_ is what you're like when you're out of practice?" He flipped the page over to the back. Tiny _Risk_ armies and _Monopoly_ player tokens leaned against each other, next to an angled sketch of a game controller. Tiny drawings of the crown lined the empty space, simpler in style. "These are so good." 

_I was a hobby artist in life. I never sold paintings or anything of the sort, but it was something to take up the time_

"I'll bet." Yugi was hardly paying attention, too absorbed in the drawings. He flipped to the second page of drawings… and his chest twisted.

He was staring at himself, taking up half a page. Drawn-Yugi was sitting at his desk, headphones on, completely oblivious to the world, eyes half-lidded and face relaxed. His arm reached down to a mouse, and he slouched in his chair comfortably. The other arm was thrown lazily across his stomach. 

The other half of the page was full of smaller sketches, also of himself, wearing different expressions. One of them was bored, one was excited, one was annoyed, one looked like it should’ve had cartoon hearts for eyes. Cartoons were a _little_ before Atem’s time, though, so he let it slide.

He flipped the page to the back, still just as silent as when he’d seen the front. But even if he had tried to say something, it wouldn't have gotten past his teeth.

The last drawing, undoubtedly the most detailed, took up the entire page in landscape format. It was a portrait, a still life, of Yugi. He was sleeping, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and one side of his face pressed against a pillow. The drawing ended halfway down his arm, everything from the pattern of the comforter to the rustle in the fabric documented lovingly with a ballpoint pen.

"Wow," Yugi whispered, just barely choking it out. 

 _Are you… alright with it_? 

It took a moment for him to tear his eyes away from the drawing, and even longer for the words he read to register. "Am I—Yeah, I'm perfectly fine with it. It's just. Wow."

The ghost gently slipped the notepad from his hands, and Yugi let him take it, following the art with his eyes the whole time. The corner of the paper folded and unfolded itself, as if someone was thumbing the page. 

 _I drew this in one night_.

"How long did it take you?"

 _All nig_ ht.

"You drew for eight hours?" _You drew_ me _for eight hours?_

_Ten. And I do not get tired, so it was of no consequence._

Yugi's mouth flopped uselessly. There was absolutely nothing he could find in his brain that could describe what he was feeling. No combination of words, no "thank you", not anything. He was just speechless.

Atem filled the silence with his own words instead. _You lie very still when you sleep. ~~You are~~_ _It is an easy thing to draw._

"What am I?" Yugi blurted, his mouth jumping ahead of his self-control when he read the crossed-out message. For some reason, he couldn't find the words to take back the question. He seemed to be functioning in short bursts only.

Atem clicked the pen several times anxiously. He pressed it to the page, and lifted it back up again. Finally, he scrawled a single sentence, the lettering sloppy as if he'd closed his eyes while writing it.

_You are an impeccable muse._

Yugi stared at that sentence. His brain stalled. He’d suddenly lost the means to communicate. The notepad tried to slink away in shame, but he grabbed the edge to keep it there.

"I think,” he said, forcing himself to remember language, “that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

The pen and paper jumped, as if they’d been startled. Atem scribbled something else.

 _You do not think it strange_?

“N-no, I don’t.” He was slowly losing the battle with his tongue. “I think it’s really nice that you’d want to draw me at all.”

Atem must have picked up the insecurity in his voice, because his next question was _Are you surprised_?

“Kind of. I mean—” He held out his arms, putting himself on display. “I’m not exactly art material.”

_How so?_

He put his arms down and shrugged. He stared into his lap. “I’m just. Not very interesting.”

It was strange to admit it out loud, even if it was true. Yugi had never been confident in himself – being a skinny, nerdy, short kid in high school had never done him any favors – and he’d taken to making his hair and outfits as loud and colorful as possible to distract people from it. Platinum blond bangs and purple highlights had always drawn the most attention, but if that didn’t do it, the soft- to medium-punk aesthetic, complete with chains and leather, sure would.

He wouldn’t have blamed the ghost for wanting to draw _that_ ; he was already wearing an art project on his head every day. The fact that Atem had chosen to focus on his expressions – and by extension, his _face_ – was what surprised him the most. He thought of himself as rather plain in that respect. Certainly not an “impeccable muse.”

His roommate, however, was not having any of it. A ghostly hand nudged his arm, and he glanced over at the notepad.

_I have had nothing interesting to draw in so long I cannot count the years. Trust me when I say I would not have even attempted your likeness if I did not find it worthy of my interest._

He picked up the drawing of Yugi asleep, full of life and detail, the drawing he had spent _ten hours_ on, and plopped it into the real Yugi’s lap as if to say, “Here’s the proof.”

Yugi stared at it. A lump formed in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down. His eyes stung.

“Forget what I said earlier,” he said, poking the message. “ _That’s_ the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 _I am honored to hold the title_.

A watery smile crawled up Yugi’s face. “If you had a body, I would hug you.”

The notepad dropped from where it floated in the air, and suddenly he was enveloped in a cold blanket, just enough pressure for him to notice it wasn’t just another gust of wind. He tried to wrap his arms around the ghost, but the best he could do was stick his hands in the air and hope it was the right spot. It was strange… but not unpleasant.

They spent the rest of the afternoon looking through the old yellow notepad, reading back Atem’s half of their old conversations, and finding new drawings now and then. There wasn’t ever a two-page spread again, just sections divided into words and pictures. They were mostly sketches of objects or characters from games. A few of them were of Yugi again, the biggest was another half a page. He was scrolling on his phone at the dinner table, noodles half falling out of his mouth. The real Yugi had insisted that he was _never_ that messy, but the ghost definitely thought otherwise.

Once they reached the very end, Atem had very timidly asked if it would be okay, maybe, possibly, if it would be alright to draw Yugi in a more overt way, instead of just when he wasn’t paying attention. Or asleep.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Like posing me and stuff?”

_I would not do it often. But… if it is alright with you, I would like to start drawing properly again._

“Sure,” he agreed. “Why not?”

First, Yugi met a ghost. Then, said ghost became his friend. Now, he was modeling for his king artist ghost roommate. This was his _real life_.

And now? He didn’t regret it exactly. But a week and a half into the agreement, it was getting extremely hard not to notice things he shouldn’t have been noticing, doing things he shouldn’t have been doing, and thinking things he shouldn’t have been thinking.

Atem’s style seemed very focused on capturing day to day, normal life things. So, even when he lounged around the house, he made sure he was always doing something. Not even anything “art worthy,” but things he knew would suit the ghost’s style. Something that would _look_ candid, even if it wasn’t.

He noticed when a cold hand would gently tilt his head forward or to the side or up, how he preferred the arms to rest. So, he started sitting like that. Normally. Without prompting.

He noticed how much effort Atem put into his expressions. So, he would never hold back when he laughed or smiled or growled. He never put a cap on any of his reactions, to anything.

And after all of this, Yugi was thinking maybe, just maybe…

Maybe he was _absolutely_ insane.

He’d been acting so weird lately, and for what? To be an art project? Because Atem asked him to? Because he was “cute”?

Plenty of people could be cute – plenty of his _friends_ could be cute. Anzu, Ryou – hell, even Jou had his moments. He wouldn’t have developed a new way to _sit_ for them, at least not if they didn’t ask him to first. But for whatever reason, Atem was a completely different beast.

It wasn’t even that he just developed new habits – he purposefully chose to do the things he did for the sake of ghostly art. And he _liked_ doing it. Sitting in one spot doing nothing for however long it took to be drawn was one of the highlights of his day, when it happened. Why? What gives? What subliminal messaging was his brain sending out that he wasn’t picking up?

He wondered all of this lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and searching for answers. The _skritch-skritch_ of a pen that he’d become so used to was down and right, Atem wanting to get a unique angle from the floor.

“I should get you a sketchbook,” Yugi mused. Atem didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. “So you don’t have to draw on something lined.” More silence. “I wish you could talk while you were doing these, because then I’d ask you when your birthday was. I’m not sure if you remember it, but we could make one up.”

He wished there was a way to make sure the ghost was even listening to him. He got so absorbed in his art that it was almost impossible to get his attention.

He turned his head to the side to look down at the invisible artist on the floor, snapping his fingers over the page. “Hey, write that down. Birthday.” A puff of cold air went straight into his face. He laughed and sputtered. “Alright, jeez, sorry for making su—urh.”

Yugi’s cheeks scrunched up when a ghostly hand had grabbed his face. Usually that meant _stay right there, don’t move, I’m having an artistic breakthrough_. But Atem usually _let go_ at some point. Which he wasn’t doing.

Instead, the ghostly fingers held him by the chin, and tilted him slightly up toward the arm of the couch. He thought that would be the end of it, but then he started poking at the apples of his cheeks until he brushed away the cold hand with an exasperated smile.

“What are you _doing_?” he asked, but was cut short on the last syllable as Atem put an entire hand over his mouth, as if to freeze it there. Put a hand over his _smile_.

“Oh. You want me to smile?” The hand released, and Yugi’s smile when he snorted was genuine. “God, just write it _down_. You’re ridiculous.” He held as still as he could, talking through his teeth. “My cheeks are going to be cramping like hell, so you better be happy with this.”

It took way longer than he’d like to admit for the lightbulb to go off in his brain.

He was doing this to make Atem happy.

And, through logical conclusion, if making _Atem_ happy made _him_ happy…

Then, yes, he was insane. He was absolutely, certifiably insane.

“Break?” Yugi asked, through his smile.

He had to get up, get moving, do _something_ , but didn’t sit up until he heard the rustle of paper and the click of a pen being closed. He shot straight up, rubbing his sore cheeks. It wasn’t _that_ bad, but he needed to excuse for a break to be reasonable.

“Bathroom,” he said shortly. “Be right back.”

He didn’t even wait for a response or to see Atem’s progress like he usually did – he just _bolted_ for the bathroom door.

Yugi flipped on the sink and splashed his face with water. More than “splashed,” – he practically waterboarded himself. He hung his dripping face over the sink, and stared into his own eyes in the mirror.

“You,” he said, pointing, “need to get it together.”

He was jumping to conclusions. Wanting to make his roommate happy didn’t have to _mean_ anything. He was just being a good friend. That’s it. He could do things for other people or ghosts or whatever without it having to be some grand gesture with deeper meaning. Obviously.

Right?

He laughed helplessly and put his head in his hands. What in the world was wrong with him? He had _never_ second guessed himself this much about one thing before – about one _person_. This was _more_ than second guessing. This was _quadruple_ guessing.

Over the rushing faucet, he heard a knock at the door.

“I’m okay,” he promised, turning off the water. _Mostly_.

Atem was going to get worried if he stayed in there any longer. And then he’d have to explain that—

Whatever. He just didn’t want to talk about it.

Yugi dried his face, shook himself out, and opened the door with a smile. “See? I’m fine.”

A floating sketch greeted him on the other side of the door, and he took it in his hands. Atem folded the corner up to let him know there was another side.

The first image was Yugi’s original pose, staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. The perspective from the ground made the illustration almost dreamlike. The shorter, more detailed strokes around his face and rougher lines as the drawing expanded gave it a unique tunnel vision, or like the lens of a camera.

He flipped the page. His second pose hadn’t been held for very long, so most of it was just the basic lines and shapes, but Yugi got the gist very quickly. The angle had shifted slightly, more straight-on than the previous one, and the smile off to the side made it look like he was smiling _at_ something off the page. It felt more intimate than it should have.

“They look great,” Yugi said, passing the notepad back, “but I’m getting kind of stir crazy. Can we finish them up some other time?”

_Of course!_

Atem swept away and Yugi almost sagged against the wall in relief. He needed something _else_ to do. Something distracting. Something like—

His stomach growled impatiently.

Something like dinner.

Hey, it was as good an excuse as any.

 

 

The next morning, Yugi stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen, fumbling for the lights. He regretted the decision to start waking up early for “adult-life purposes.” It didn’t help that he’d found it hard to sleep last night, still agonizing over stupid things that didn’t exist. 

He sighed. He could feel his brain trying to wind itself up, but he shushed it. It could panic all it wanted after coffee.

He pulled down a mug from a cabinet and prepared the coffee maker with enough for three rounds – he knew he was going to need it, especially if his mind was determined to run in circles all day while he was trying to find a _job_. The button was pressed, and he slumped onto one hand and stared at the blinking red light, mug in waiting.

A cold spot appeared at his side, and glanced over with a tired smile. He vaguely noticed that Atem didn't have his notepad with him, which was odd, but not out of character. Maybe he just felt like using their invisible language this morning. Wouldn’t be the first time.

"Hey," he said, pausing to yawn. "G'morning."

Yugi turned back to the coffee maker, expecting a pat on the shoulder for a “thank you,” but it never came. He frowned a little. Atem had never gone completely silent since the move-in, and that was over a month ago. Was he _alright_?

He was two seconds away from asking when an unfamiliar voice right next to his ear said, “Good morning.”

Yugi will never admit to how loud he screamed. 

He leapt into the air and away from the counter so far back he banged his head on the opposite wall, and would have dazed himself if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline.  He was now _completely_ awake.

"Ow. Fuck," he groaned, rubbing the spot that was definitely about to become a bruise. 

"Are you alright?"

Yugi jumped at the voice again, but resisted the urge to sprint out of the room. He looked around the kitchen, blinking owlishly. "Atem? Is that you?"

"Yes, I am here." A cold hand brushed his arm. 

"Why can you _speak_?" That had sounded different in his head, but he wasn’t about to take it back.

“I… do not know.”

“You—How can you not know?”

“You remember saying that you wished I could speak?”

“Yes.”

“I felt the same. I tried speaking today and, well. It worked.”

Yugi put his hands on his temples and closed his eyes. “So you’re telling me that you tried hard enough, and your voice just _happened_?”

“It certainly appears that way.”

He put his head against the very wall he’d injured it against and shrugged. “Okay.”

“‘Okay’?”

“I’m already roommates with the ghost of a dead Egyptian king who likes to draw and play video games. I’m willing to accept anything at this point.”

Atem… made a noise. It could have been a laugh, but it also could have been a malfunctioning air conditioner. Yugi elected not to mention it as he shuffled back to the coffee maker, the cold spot that was Atem following him on the way.

"My apologies for frightening you," he said.

"Don’t worry about it. But keep in mind that might happen until I get used to this."

"I will, thank you."

The two of them fell silent, the only sound was the chug of the coffee maker. Yugi tapped the side of his mug, the ceramic clinking where his nails hit. 

“So if you have your voice back now,” he started, “that means you probably won’t need the notepad anymore, right?”

“We shall see,” the ghost responded. “I’d still like to keep it.”

“Well, _yeah_. What else are you doing to draw on?”

“Fair point.”

Another silent spell. Yugi wasn’t used to having to fill so much space all the time. 

"I'm glad you got your voice back,” he said, talking to talk. 

The ghost either didn’t notice or he _also_ felt that the silence was awkward. "I am as well. It was difficult having to write everything out all the time."

The coffee maker dinged, and Yugi inhaled the blissful smell as he poured the drink into his mug. He almost took a sip – but stopped. He put the mug on the counter and took a second mug down from the cabinet.

"Here," he said, handing it over to the ghost at his side.

"I cannot drink,” Atem protested.

"Just take it."

He took it. Yugi tilted his own mug toward his with a smile. "Cheers. To getting your voice back."

The empty mug tilted curiously, as if Atem was inspecting it. Then—

“Cheers.”

He clinked it together with Yugi’s, and the living half of them drank deeply. 

“Do you want to finish the drawing we started yesterday?” Yugi asked.

“I would love to!”

He sounded _exactly_ like he wrote. All he needed was to figure out how to do emoticons. Well, technically they were facial expressions, but Atem didn’t have a face.

“Hey, I’ve got a question,” Yugi said.

“Ask away,” the ghost replied. The floating mug set itself down on the counter.

“You’ve got like half a million drawings of me—”

Atem could finally scoff at him. “Exaggeration.”

“—but why don’t you do a self-portrait? I’ve never seen you before.”

The ghost got quiet for a long while. For a minute, Yugi almost thought he’d forgotten how to speak as soon as he’d learned.

“I cannot,” he said quietly. 

“Why not?”

“I do not remember what I look like.”

Yugi’s mug stalled halfway to his lips. “You what?”

“I have been dead for a very long time. My visage has simply… slipped away.”

Yugi chewed on the inside of his mouth – he _really_ kept asking the worst kinds of questions, didn’t he? Despite this, he asked another. “But you remember your life, right? How can you not remember yourself?”

The ghost sighed. “The best I can do is this.”

All the shadows in the room grew and grew, expanding out to cover everything from the edge of the kitchen to the space under the fridge, until it looked like it was midnight with the lights off. Black, oily shadows coalesced onto the counter, growing out of the cabinets and the wall and anywhere there was darkness. 

The combining shadows formed an approximate shape of a person, but it was more like a sick parody. Its arms were too long, too skinny, the fingers tapering to claws. The body ended at the torso, and instead of legs, a tendril of darkness snaked downward, wrapped around the handle of a drawer. Two glowing golden eyes opened into the darkness where a head might be, sitting on top of a too-skinny neck and thin shoulders. It was grotesque, and impossible to look away from.

“I am not sure I would make the best subject,” said the shape, and only then did Yugi realize that it was _Atem_ , “like _this_.”

“Uh huh,” Yugi said, trying not to sound scared. He knew it was just Atem, but…

All the shadows snapped back to their proper places, Atem returned to his invisible self in the blink of an eye. Yugi visibly relaxed.

“I doubt,” the ghost continued, “I looked that way when I was alive.”

“I sure hope not.” Yugi jumped at the words that came out of his mouth. “No offense.”

Atem’s laugh sounded a little more like a laugh this time. “None taken.”

Yugi spent the rest of the morning looking for a notepad to read when he talked and being surprised when a voice talked _back_ to him. He’d drained a mug and half before his brain caught on. Mostly.

“Ugh,” he said, putting his head down on the dinner table where he’d sat down. “I don’t want to apply for more stuff.”

“Have none of the previous companies gotten back to you?” Atem asked.

“A couple,” he admitted, voice muffled by the table. “They just can’t pay me what I need.”

“Would it be better to accept one instead of waiting?”

“Maybe? I can probably hang on for another month, but then I’ll have to just accept whatever I’m offered.” He sat up and drained the second mug of coffee. He put his cheek in his hand and turned toward the cold spot sitting next to him. “I wish I could get paid to be an art model. All I have to do is sit down and look pretty.”

“I am sure you work quite hard at it.”

“Yeah, I—Hey!”

Yugi snatched at the air next to him like he was trying to catch a fly, his hand passing through a chuckling patch of cold air.

“What were you trying to accomplish?” Atem asked, a quizzical spin to his voice.

“I can’t smack you,” Yugi explained, “so that’s the best I got.”

He never ended up going for his third mug. Instead, he was determined to avoid as many of his responsibilities as possible, and opted for helping Atem finish up the drawing they’d started. Because _that_ had gone so well for him last time. He swallowed his nerves and invasive thoughts as he relaxed on the couch again.

He had been right yesterday: posing was much easier when the ghost could speak.

“Up, just a little,” he requested. Yugi lifted his chin up a little. “Perfect.”

“Do I have to keep smiling?” he asked.

“For a short while. I will let you know.”

Now that he wasn't freaking out, and was, in fact, lying down and not doing anything, Yugi had a chance to focus on the voice Atem must have had in life. It wasn't anything like the creepy moans of horror movie ghosts, though his roommate seemed to be the exception to most of the rules regarding spirits. In fact, his voice might even be considered _nice_ to listen to. He spoke in warm baritones, matching his formal writing to a T, with a bit of an accent betraying his country of origin.

He spoke softly, loud enough to be heard, but somehow commanded attention as if he was shouting. He was confident without being rude, polite without being timid. It was clear to see that he’d been a king, or some kind of high-up politician. The way he spoke was perfect for addressing large numbers of people while still making them all feel personally talked _to_ instead of _at_. It was weird to think of him as somebody who was assassinated. When he was a mysterious invisible man who couldn’t speak, maybe, but now?

“Weird question,” Yugi said, through his smile, “but why would somebody want to assassinate you?”

“Why does one person kill another at all?”

“Very philosophical, but it doesn’t answer the question.”

“I do not know. Some people simply wish death on others.” There was a definitive click of a pen and the sound of sketching stopped. “You can stop smiling now.”

Yugi dropped his grin instantly, working his jaw to rid himself of soreness while he kept the rest of his body still. “You were a king, though. Politics and all that.”

“Must I have done something?”

“You’re not seriously expecting me to believe that all your subjects loved you and this _one_ guy was the outlier?”

Atem’s voice became terse, teetering on the edge of anger. “I would never suggest such a thing. In fact, I was quite unpopular.”

“ _Really?_ ”

The pen clicked again and the scratch on paper continued. “Surprised, are we?”

“Of course I am.”

“A curious reaction, considering your question.”

“My question was nice! I don’t know why someone would want to kill you, that’s why I asked. I happen to _like_ you.”

“In that case, I feel so incredibly cared for.”

Yugi rolled his eyes. “If all you’re going to do with your newfound voice is snark at me, then I don’t want to hear it.”

There was one think about Atem’s voice that was both jarring and the most reflective of his personality: his laugh. It was loud and boisterous, a stark contrast to the upright professional voice that seemed to be his _only_ setting, but put together with all other aspects about him, it made perfect sense. He was loud in personality, he disrupted a room with his presence alone.

Yugi was just getting more and more curious about how he had looked in life, how he carried himself, how he walked into a room, if he’d stand out in a crowd. Maybe if he did some research on Egyptian kings he’d find a picture or someth—

“Yugi?”

He started, jerking his head to the floating pen and paper in front of him. “Hm? Yeah?”

Atem’s voice had lost all strain, now only concerned. “Are you alright? You went blank for a moment.”

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“Only if you are quite sure—”

“I am, promise.” Atem didn’t have eyes, but Yugi could feel a skeptical gaze staring back at him anyway, the pen paused in the air. He raised his eyebrows imploringly. “Something wrong?”

“You try very hard to hide things.”

Well _that_ was unprompted. Yugi’s stomach twisted itself into a balloon animal. “W-What do you mean?”

“If you need a break, just ask.”

He relaxed just a quickly. “Oh. Thanks, but—”

“I am not _asking_ you, Yugi. Take a break.”

Fighting the urge to salute and say “yes, sir,” in the most sarcastic way possible, Yugi sat up. He arched his back and rolled his neck, and _wow_ , he really had gotten stiff, hadn’t he?

“Can I see?” he asked, already reaching for the notepad. Atem handed it over.

The sketch from the previous day had already flourished into a nearly finished drawing, Yugi staring off the page, smiling adoringly at something. The real Yugi still felt embarrassed looking at it, as if he was looking at something private. Even though it was _him_.

“Do I actually look like this?” he asked, more to himself than to his ghostly companion.

He got an answer anyway. “I try my best.”

“It’s _amazing_ ,” Yugi assured him. “But, do I actually look that—” he stared up at the ceiling, as if the rest of his sentence would be painted there. “I don’t know. When I look at this, I wonder what I’m looking at.”

“I suppose that is your choice, hm?”

He passed the drawing back. “I guess.” He relaxed against the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“What do you think I’m looking at?”

The ghost sat for a while on that question, tapping the pen against the top of the notepad. “I do not see a ‘what.’ I see a ‘whom.’”

“Who is it, then?”

“I am not sure. Somebody you love.”

He swallowed thickly, nervous and confused about being nervous at the same time. “Cool.”

“Ready to continue?”

“Yep.”

Yugi lied back down on the couch and let Atem take over.

His _friend_ , Atem, he reminded himself.

For no reason in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atem: *draws yugi for ten hours straight, calls him his muse, will take literally any opportunity to sketch him*  
> yugi: haha but we’re like just friends right? no homo
> 
> sorry i write these two like idiots, but also i’m not sorry at all


	4. Lateral Movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note: after outlining the next few chapters, there’s a chance that the rating will change in the future due to more serious topics, more violence (not more graphic, just more of it), and Additional Shenanigans. i’ll put warnings on a per-chapter basis when/if the time comes 
> 
> and speaking of which: this chapter has some of said violence in it! skip the italicized section at the very end if you don't like that sort of thing.

No. No. Nope. Not even close.

Yugi let a frustrated sigh slip through his nose. His research was not paying off. He figured it wouldn’t be as easy as Googling “Atem Al Sadat,” and hoping for the best, but this was virtually impossible.

For starters, Egypt didn’t even _have_ kings around the time he suspected Atem to have died. Unless he was actually either way younger or way older than he claimed to be, which was unlikely. The ghost didn’t remember the exact date, but after a few “subtle” questions over the course of several days, Yugi gathered that he didn’t know anything about cars, phones, or electricity in general, but he _did_ know about trains. Steam trains, specifically. That put him smack dab in the middle of the 19th century. And therein was the problem.

From the beginning of that century to the first _half_ of the next, Egypt was ruled by the Ottoman Empire, or so he’d found out, and ruled by something called a “Khedive,” which didn’t translate to anything even approximating “king.” The term “king,” wasn’t even used until the very end of that period, which would be too late. But any time _before_ that was too early. And there wasn’t a single mention of _anyone_ in power in Egypt with the name of the “king” ghost in his house, ever, in the history of the Ottoman Empire.

Eventually, he’d just resorted to scrolling through names with pictures on the sides, blankly looking for names and faces that might match his roommate’s hypothetical one, something lost in translation when he had to learn how to speak Japanese. Not only had the names not come close – they were essentially useless. At least he was learning about early modern history.

“Yugi?”

“Nothing!”

He tabbed out of the page and onto his email inbox as quickly as possible, spinning his chair around in an attempt to block the computer screen.

Atem’s floating notepad hung in the air, a page half turned and frozen there. “Right…” he said, flipping the rest of the page slowly.

“Do you need something?” Yugi asked, folding his hands innocently.

“A pen, if you please. Unless you are occupied doing ‘nothing.’”

“Oh, sure.”

Yugi rummaging through a desk drawer for a pen, cursing his overcorrection and how hyperaware of Atem he’d been lately.

He hadn’t been posed for one of his roommate’s many illustrations in a while, which had been a relief in the beginning – no more sitting still and being unable to move, uncomfortable for reasons that had nothing to do with his positioning. But now he felt like he had a gigantic itch somewhere he couldn’t reach. He’d been trying to soothe it with their regular game nights and making fun of bad movies together, but there was still something _missing_ about it all. He was terrified to bring it up in case Atem didn’t feel the same… but the idea that he _would_ feel the same way frightened him even more.

“Ah-ha,” Yugi announced, triumphantly holding up a pen. He scribbled on a loose piece of paper to make sure it worked, then handed it over to the ghost. “Have a blast.”

The pen slipped from his fingers and into invisible ones. “Thank you. Enjoy your ‘nothing.’”

“I’ll enjoy my nothing very much.”

Yugi spun his chair back around to face his computer, planning to write pretend emails until he was sure Atem had left the room, but the sight of a single unread real email in his inbox caught his attention.

_Subject: Application Review for Mid/Senior Game Designer Position at KCStudios_

Curious, he clicked the message and scanned over it.s

“Oh my god,” he gasped.

Something cold rushed up and pressed against his shoulder. “What is it?”

“I got the interview,” he breathed. “I _actually_ got the interview, holy _shit_ —”

“What interview? What are you talking about?”

Yugi didn’t even bother trying to come up with words on his own, reading the email verbatim. “’We have looked over your application and decided that we would like to extend the opportunity for a _position_ _on our team_ , please follow up with a time you’d like to schedule your interview’—oh my god I _did_ it!”

“Who are you interviewing for?”

“It’s for KCStudios, they’re a branch off of KaibaCorp which is one of the _top_ tech companies _in Japan_ , and I—I did it!”

He jumped out of his chair so hard he sent it rolling across the room, but that was the least of his concerns as he cheered and threw his hands to the sky, celebrating like he’d just won the lottery. He spun around and put both his palms in the air for a double high-five.

He received something very different, as the notepad was tossed to the side, and Atem pulled him into a hug instead. Yugi put his arms around the ghost as best he could and returned the embrace with enthusiasm. He was way too happy to be embarrassed right now.

"Congratulations," Atem said, pulling back.

"Thanks," Yugi said grinning from ear to ear. "We have to celebrate tonight." 

"Of course!"

"What should we do?" He took a step back towards his desk, shaking his head. "No. Wait. I have to reply to the email first, _then_ we can decide how to party."

The ghost retrieved the notepad and pen from where he'd cast them aside. "I will be in the living room."

"Got it."

Atem swept out of the room, the door gently squeaking shut behind him. Yugi returned his chair to where it belonged and typed out a reply that boiled down to, "I would be happy interviewing at literally any time before I'm dead." He sent it and realized he should probably tell the rest of his friends the good news, not just the most immediate one.

He hadn't seen them very much since the housewarming party, all of them with their adult lives and jobs and lack of ghosts. Maybe Ryou had ghosts, but everyone else was ghost-free. Regardless of their haunted-house-status, he hadn’t seen them in a while. This would be the perfect excuse for a get-together soon. Preferably at someone _else’s_ house.

He retrieved his phone from charging on his bedside table and opened the group text with all of his friends in it.

 

**Yugi 4:13pm**

_GUESS WHO’S GOT AN INTERVIEW WITH KCS?????? :DDDDDDDD_

 

He didn’t have to wait long for the confetti emojis and congratulatory screaming to start filtering in. He flopped down on his bed, resigned to not getting much else done today.

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:14pm**

_WHEN WHEN WHEN U GOTTA TELL US WHEN_

**Yugi** **4:14pm**

_i just found out like three minutes ago!! it’s not scheduled yet_

 

**🍑** **anzu** **🍑** **4:14pm**

_We should celebrate this!_

 

**ryuji** **🎲 🎲** **4:14pm**

_dude why aren’t we out partying RIGHT NOW_

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:15pm**

_@ ryou and honda get off work so we can party_

 

**ryuji** **🎲 🎲** **4:15pm**

_haha_

 

**Yugi 4:15pm**

_when is everyone free? it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other (_ _っ_ _˘̩_ _╭╮_ _˘̩_ _)_ _っ_

 

**shiRyou** **👻** **4:15pm**

_Sneaking In From Work :P_

 

**shiRyou** **👻** **4:15pm**

_Amazing News Yugi!_

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:16pm**

_okay i know honda isnt workin the graveyard shift 2nite so hes free at like 5_

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:16pm**

_lol ryou dont get fired_

 

**🍑** **anzu** **🍑** **4:16pm**

_Have any of you been to Domino Bowl yet? I’ve heard it’s awesome_

 

**shiRyou** **👻** **4:16pm**

_I’m Awful At Bowling! D:_

 

**Yugi 4:16pm**

_same :/_

 

**ryuji** **🎲 🎲** **4:16pm**

_none of us are good at bowling_

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:17pm**

_its perfect_

 

Yugi snorted. That was an interesting perspective, but very Jou. If nobody was good at something, they could all have the same amount of fun from being bad. The game would be unpredictable and exciting because any of them could fuck up and ruin themselves at any time. Yugi’s personal philosophy followed more along the lines of, “I like having fun, and winning is fun,” but he couldn’t deny Jou had some decent points. There’s nothing funnier than laughing at yourself and all your friends at something that you’re all equally bad at.

 

**🍑** **anzu** **🍑** **4:17pm**

_So are we all agreed? Let’s say, tonight at six?_

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:17pm**

_obv_

 

**ryuji** **🎲 🎲** **4:17pm**

_sure_

 

**shiRyou** **👻** **4:17pm**

_Absolutely!_

 

**Yugi 4:17pm**

_i’m in! (_ _＾_ _▽_ _＾_ _)_

**honda** **🍘** **🏎️** **4:17pm**

_i don’t know what im agreeing to but yes_

 

**ryuji** **🎲 🎲** **4:18pm**

_we’ll fill you in_

 

**joumochi** **🍡** **4:18pm**

_lol_

 

He closed out of the group chat, content with his plans, and skipped out of his room with the intent to prepare a celebratory snack of some kind. He skidded to a halt when he got into the living room and saw a pen and paper hovering in the air, sketching a house of cards with an impressive number of layers.

He’d promised Atem _they_ would make plans too. A coil of guilt slithered out of his chest and curled at the bottom of his stomach.

The problem with a ghost friend was that he couldn’t just take Atem places he went with his other friends. Hell, Atem couldn’t even leave the _house_ – he’d gotten about halfway down the stairs when they tested it, before being yanked back like a dog with a choke chain. No matter how hard they tried, they’d found his limit.

Yugi supposed it made some kind of sense. If Atem’s spirit was tied to the house somehow, then of course he wouldn’t be allowed to leave. That’s classic ghost trivia right there. But he had sort of been hoping that, like many other popular myths, his ghostly roommate would end up disproving that theory as well. It would make going to the grocery store more fun, at the very least.

And now he wished that Atem could go with him for another reason: so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about forgetting he couldn’t.

_I should tell him_ , he thought. Get it out of the way as soon as possible. Save himself the trouble of having to either rush out of the house with no explanation, or be late to meet up with his friends and have to make up some kind of lame excuse. _Sorry I’m late, I made plans with my ghost roommate_ , didn’t exactly cut it where apologies were concerned.

Yugi clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at the house of cards. Before he could convince himself not to, he walked semi-confidently into the couch and rested his forearms on the back. “Hey there.”

Atem didn’t stop sketching. “Hello.”

“Cool card house.”

“Thank you. It was quite difficult to put together.”

Yugi peeked over the ghost’s invisible shoulder to look at the drawing. Near-photorealistic, as usual. He still _could not_ get over how good every single drawing was, despite Atem’s insistence that he was still getting back into art.

_Focus,_ he chastised himself.

“So about those celebration plans,” he started.

“Have you decided?”

Yugi stared very intently at the house of cards. “I think we might have to put them off for a night.”

“Oh?” He didn’t sound anything but curious.

Regardless, Yugi winced in preparation. “I told my friends the good news and they all wanted to get together tonight. Out. And I said I’d go. I know I said we’d hang, but I forgot you can’t actually _go with me_ places. Sorry.”

“I understand. We will have many opportunities to celebrate in the future.”

He blinked. “You sure?”

Finally, Atem put down his drawing, cold air ruffling through Yugi’s hair to let him know he was paying attention. “Of course. You have not seen your friends in quite a while, and we live together. I would have you enjoy your night with them.”

“Oh. Thanks.” That was surprisingly easy. “Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own for a while?”

“I was alone for _quite_ a while before you.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, just enough to notice.

Yugi responded in kind. “Well, you’re used to me now. What if you get _lonely_?”

The ghost laughed and returned to sketching. “I can manage.”

With that, Yugi hopped over the couch and sat down next to Atem. He noticed the remainder of the cards that hadn’t been used in the current house and picked them up. He sized up the subject of Atem’s latest art project. “I bet I could build a taller one,” he mused.

“A fool’s bet, surely,” the ghost replied, in a tone that said _I dare you_.

He didn’t need any more egging on than that, already on his knees at the coffee table with the remainder of the deck in his hands. For the next forty-five minutes, the room was filled with the sound of sketching and Yugi cursing when he accidentally knocked over a layer of cards. Which happened more often than he’d like.

“My hands aren’t steady enough for this,” he complained, re-doing his third layer. Again.

“One of the benefits of not having a body,” Atem said. “I am always steady.”

He gently placed a pair of cards together, propped up against each over to form a steady triangle, picking up another two. “How many benefits could there _possibly_ be to not having a body? Besides building card houses.”

“I never have to sleep.”

“But sleeping is the best.”

“I never worry about going hungry.”

Yugi sighed wistfully. “I love food.”

“Both of those hinder you, at least slightly. I am free to do as I wish.”

He stacked another pair of cards onto his tower. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t see the merits of having a body.”

“Enlighten me. What purely beneficial experiences am I glossing over?”

Yugi slid a smirk his way, wiggling his eyebrows. “ _Purely_ beneficial, you say?”

Atem paused in his art, and Yugi imagined him looking up from the notepad to glare. “If you are suggesting what I believe you are,” he said, “then you are even more childish than I thought.”

He returned to stacking cards. “It’s a _body experience_. I’m just answering your question.”

The pen retuned to the page. “And suddenly I regret asking.”

“But it’s _fun_ , and if everyone takes care of themselves properly, there are absolutely zero downsides. None. I’m talking _only_ good times ahead.”

“Your point is made.”

“Seriously, the best times. Fantastic times. _Incredible_ times.”

His voice was getting strained. “Yes. I get it. Thank you.”

Yugi put down his cards, propping his cheek up with his hand and smiling at the floating notepad. “Something the matter?”

He was speaking a half-step higher than usual. “Nothing at all. I am simply wondering if you are always this… forward.”

Yugi pressed a hand to his chest, flattered. “Well, if you’re _offering_ —”

Atem made the sound of a cat having its tail stepped on, and the pen shot across the notepad like he was on the deck of the Titanic. He might have said something, but Yugi couldn’t hear him on account of laughing so hard he knocked over his card tower again.

“Wow,” he gasped, when he could finally find his voice again. “I wish you had a face, so I could have seen that.”

“That was not funny,” Atem grumbled.

“Yes it _absolutely_ was.” Yugi looked over the remains of his card tower, gathering up the fallen cards. “And totally worth it.”

“I disagree.” The ghost flipped over his notepad and trailed his pen down a thick, squiggly, black line separating half the page.

Yugi had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing again. “Aw man. I’m sorry.”

“Your repentance is boundless, I see.” He took the art back again, and flipped over the page to a fresh one.

Yugi stood up, stacking his fallen cards on the table. “I have to go get ready to leave, so you’ll have a quiet house to yourself soon.”

“And forever grateful for it.”

“Drama queen.”

“Cad.”

“Prude.”

“ _Puterelle_.”

“I don’t even know what that _means_.”

“Good.”

Atem returned to quietly sketching and Yugi left the room with a hair flip and an exasperated smile. There was only so far they could go with insult-wars before neither of them understood what the other was saying, because Yugi was too young and Atem knew three languages. They really needed to sit down and teach each other some interesting ones one of these days.

It didn’t normally take Yugi a long time to get ready – just throw on the nearest pair of jeans and go – but he was _celebrating_. He wanted to look decent, if not _good_. He took a little extra time finding something to wear, which ended up being a sleeveless leather top, ripped studded jeans, and a belt to match.

He clipped on his collar for the first time in what felt like years, the familiar weight bringing a sense of comfort and normalcy to his, admittedly, crazy life. And, just for a little extra something, slipped into the bathroom and opened up the tiny plastic jewelry case with his collection of barbell style piercings. He fished around until he found a nice metallic one, closed the case, and stuck out his tongue in the bathroom mirror, to find the hole in the center where the barbell belonged.

He felt a cold spot appear behind him. “What is that?” Atem asked.

As best he could, Yugi responded, “Ith a tongue pierthing.”

“You put jewelry in your tongue?”

“Yeth.”

“Would the hole not close up?”

“Thometimes.” He finally got the piercing to sit comfortably, rolling his tongue around his mouth for a moment to get used to it again. “Some people’s close up when they stop wearing them, but I’ve had mine for so long it doesn’t go away.”

“What is the purpose of such a thing?”

Yugi almost said _Because it looks cool_.

Almost.

Instead he smirked into the mirror, over his shoulder where he knew Atem was floating. “Body experiences.” He stuck out his tongue and winked.

The ghost immediately swept out of the room with a dry, “Forget I asked.”

Yugi followed him into the living room. "Come on, you didn't see that coming?"

"Your optimism has worn off on me. To a detriment, clearly."

"You're just mad because I'm hilarious."

Atem settled back on the couch to draw. "Is that what people call it these days? Pardon me, my age is showing."

Yugi rolled his eyes, tugging on his boots. "Oh, whatever."

He patted his pockets to make sure he had all his essentials – phone, check, wallet and chain clipped to his belt loop, check. He grabbed his keys from where they hung on the rack by the front door. Ready to go.

"I'll be back later," he said, stopping at the front door. "Turn off the lights if you're not using them, if you light candles be careful with the lighter, don't beat any high scores without me."

"Have a good time."

The notepad waved his way. He waved back at it, and stepped out the door into the warm summer evening.

The drive to Domino Bowl was relatively quick and painless, save for the usual traffic, but the whole time, Yugi couldn’t shake the nervous feeling he had at leaving Atem all by himself. When he just had to hop over to the store and back, that was no problem. An hour at most. But with his friends, he could be out all night, with no way to contact his roommate without going home. That would be a weird thing to explain, considering he didn’t _have_ a roommate according to everyone else.

He crossed his arms at the red light, staring angrily out into the city lights just beginning to flicker on.  What was he even worried about? It wasn’t like leaving a puppy alone – Atem could take care of himself just fine. He had his paper and pen and all the art subjects he could ever want, theoretically. He didn’t have to eat, and he physically couldn’t go anywhere, not to mention they lived in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors to potentially harass – as if he would – no one that would let themselves into the apartment, no one nervously call security when they heard a strange voice in his apartment even though he wasn’t home. There were absolutely _no_ logical reasons why he should be wary about leaving Atem by himself. So what gives?

The light turned green and he pressed on the gas, shaking the thoughts out of his head. There was no point in worrying about it. Sure, they hadn’t been separated for this long before, but it’s not like they were attached at the hip. Yugi was going to _enjoy_ his night out with his friends – ghost free. He nodded resolutely to himself, deciding it then and there.

One red light later, he saw the frankly ridiculous logo of Domino Bowl on his left – a giant cartoon bowling ball smiling and posing with an inanimate pin. It had _arms_. And _legs_. That wasn’t even mentioning the mass of neon lights around the sign at the front of the building. It had so many colors, he was half sure that some of them didn’t have names.

_At least no one could possibly miss this place_ , he thought, pulling into the parking lot. _They’d have to be blind_.

Walking in to the establishment, it was just as crazy as its outside. Hideous bowling alley carpet, decorated with only the most sickening shapes and colors, at least a dozen racks of bowling balls, lanes polished to a sheen, plastic tables and chairs as far as the eye could see. He saw the screens at active lanes light up with animations for strikes and spares, the same humanized bowling ball coming on to congratulate the respective player.

He craned his neck around the eccentric sight, searching for either an unclaimed lane or someone he knew.

An arm threw itself across his shoulders and Jou’s smiling face appeared at his side. “You beat me here, buddy.”

Yugi returned the favor by slinging an arm around his friend’s waist. “I always beat you places.”

“And Anzu always beats both of us, so we’re even.”

“Is she even here?”

He looked all around. “I don’t see her.”

“Does this mean we win?”

“Hell yeah! Let’s get our shoes before she gets here.”

Jou slung them both toward the counter, where they traded in their own shoes for the uncomfortably necessary bowling shoes and paid for three hours in a lane for their group of six – split down the middle, because Yugi refused to _not_ pay for something.

They headed to the ball racks next, testing out the different weights, and finding out that they were all a lot heavier than expected.

“Jeez,” Yugi complained, putting up a fifteen-pound ball. “Every time I go bowling, I feel like a wimp.”

Jou swung his arm back and forth, trying out a thirteen-pound. “Wait until Honda gets here and picks the heaviest one just because he can.”

Yugi lifted a ten-pound off the rack, and rolled his eyes. “He’s going to spend the whole time gloating about it too.”

“At least his gutter balls will make up for it.”

“Don’t get cocky yet, we don’t even have a lane.”

After claiming a bowling ball that didn’t feel like it would rip his arm off on the backswing, Yugi went to claim a lane, Jou handing over his ball and rushing off to get food for the table. He sent a quick text to the group to let them all know that he had claimed a spot, and started setting up the game on the little terminal in front of the table.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the party to start showing up. Anzu was predictably next to arrive, bringing over a ball herself and a hug for Yugi.

“Hope you’re ready to lose at bowling,” she said.

He pulled away with a pair of energetic finger guns. “You know I am.”

She laughed, putting down her purse on the table and sticking her ball in the dispenser. She looked around their space. “Where’s Jou?”

“He went to get us the greasiest bowling alley pizza on the planet,” Yugi informed her, continuing to punch in the names of all their players.

“And I _return_ ,” announced Jou, carrying a pizza box and a stack of paper plates like a waiter, “with the greasiest bowling alley pizza on the planet.”

He set down the box with a flourish on their table, and there was no exaggeration about “greasiest.” From the short glimpse Yugi got at the bottom of the box, he could see it was lightly stained in a perfect circle.

“That looks gross,” Anzu said, lifting the box and wrinkling her nose.

Jou and Yugi looked at each other and shrugged.

“More for us,” Jou said. He picked up a paper plate and lifted a slice of the pizza – the cheese almost slid off altogether, along with a pool of grease that dripped like water. He grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, _hell_ yeah.”

Yugi leapt away from the terminal and rubbed his hands together. “I definitely want some of that.”

Anzu threw up her hands. “How are either of you _alive_?”

“Willpower.”

One by one, Honda, Ryou, and Ryuji appeared at the table, just in time to disgust Anzu even more by enthusiastically digging in to the food. It was mediocre at best, but it was also _pizza_.

“Are we going to play or not?” she finally complained.

“Just hit start on the thing,” Yugi instructed, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the terminal. “Everyone’s names should be on it.”

She stood up to press it, and the game was on.

They all failed miserably, of course. Three frames in and not a single one of them had gotten anything better than a spare, Jou with the first unlucky seven-ten split of the game.

“Arg!” he groaned, tearing at his hair. “No!”  

“Still think this game is _perfect_?” Honda teased, standing off to the side with his ball (the heaviest, as predicted) in preparation for his turn.

“Shut up,” Jou muttered, holding his ball in front of his face, eyes set in determination.

Yugi clapped from where he sat at the table, sitting backwards in his chair. “Woo! Don’t fuck up!”

“Not helping, Yug’.”

He shrugged. “Well, I tried.”

Beside him, Ryou snorted. “Good effort.”

He smiled back, opening his mouth to say something when he felt cold air brush along the back of his head and down his neck. He glanced over his shoulder instinctively with an expectant look, waiting for a question in gentle baritones, seeking out a floating notepad.

And then he remembered that Atem wasn’t here.

So what, exactly, had touched him?

“Something wrong?”

Yugi jumped a little at Ryou’s voice. “No, I’m okay.”

“You looked a little spooked there.”

“It’s nothing. I just—” he scrabbled for an answer that wouldn’t make him sound insane “—I thought I felt somebody touch me is all.”

Ryou lifted a single skeptical eyebrow. “Nobody could fit behind you.”

He was right. There wasn’t even room for _half_ a person where Yugi had swiveled his chair around, back nearly against the edge of the table. _Shit._

"You know—" he started, but was interrupted by a metallic _whoosh_. 

He glanced up at the source of the noise, and saw an air vent above the table. It was blowing cold air directly down his back.

"Oh," he said. "It was just the air conditioner."

Ryou smiled. "Mystery solved."

Yugi nodded but privately scolded himself for being such an idiot. Other sources of cold air existed in the world that weren't ghosts _._ He _really_ needed to get out more. And stop thinking about dead people.

"By the way, Yugi," Ryou said, "having any more problems with that spirit of yours?"

_Shit_.

Yugi did his best to look confused instead of afraid and surprised and _Oh my god, how did he figure it out?_ "What are you talking about?"

"Remember? Your ghost, the one from the party."

_The par—? Oh_. 

Ryou was talking about his "prank."

He laughed, more out of relief than anything. "Oh, that. I'm doing just fine in debt to an—" he wiggled his fingers mysteriously "— _ancient spirit, spoo-oky._ "

"Maybe that's what was behind you."

"Totally. I'm being stalked by a ghost wherever I go, it's awesome."

Ryou looked like he was only halfway kidding, eyes slightly narrowed, when he said, “Try not to get possessed.”

The frustrated cursing of Jou interrupted their conversation, and Yugi had never be so grateful to hear his childhood friend call a bowling ball “motherfucker.” He took the opportunity to escape answering more questions about ghosts, clapping sarcastically as neither of the pins in the lane fell over. Jou talked over sat next to him with a huff.

“I hate bowling,” he muttered.

“You were the one who wanted to come here,” Ryou pointed out.

“I know, I’m such an idiot.”

Yugi patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time, champ.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The game continued, Honda taking his turn next, knocking down four pins his first throw and all but one the second time. Jou had a good time making fun of him about that, which lead to a bought of playful roughhousing. Unfortunately “playful” for Jou and Honda was “dangerous and violent” for everyone else. Yugi had to duck under their flying arms to grab his ball.

He knew almost nothing about bowling, and was quickly reminded of this when he stepped up to the lane, ball in hand. He knew it had something to do with balance, your wrist, maybe sliding? Well, he had been sucking but to this point, so he might as well continue to suck.

Yugi squared his shoulders, stepped up to the line, and took a lunge forward, rolling his ball…

Very…

Slowly…

He burst out laughing with the rest of his group, as the bowling ball took its sweet time down the lane, just barely curing to the right.

“Gutter, gutter, gutter,” Honda chanted.

“Don’t jinx it!” Anzu warned. “Now he’s going to get a strike, watch.”

“You just jinxed it in reverse,” Yugi said.

The ball rolled ever closer to the pins, somehow correcting course to the center.

“If he gets a strike—” Ryuji started.

Yugi shushed him and willed his ball forward intensely. _Come on, come on._

It tapped the front pin, then the second in line, the third, they all came tumbling down—

Leaving exactly one pin standing.

“No! So _close_!” He shook his fists at the sky, cursing the bowling ball gods.

“You’ll get ‘em next time, Yug’!” Jou said.

Yugi turned around just to stick his tongue out, metal barbell flashing in the fluorescent lights. Jou stuck his tongue out right back, lacking jewelry but getting the same message across.

Yugi picked his ball from the dispenser and aimed for his single remaining pin, he drew back his arm, but before he could even let go, cheers exploded on the next lane over. He looked over out of sheer curiosity.

A group of women, probably close to his age, were congratulating a member of their group excessively, the screen showering her with praise for getting a turkey – three strikes in a row. The woman stood proud among her group of friends, blonde hair tied up in a pigtail, pushing up the glasses on her nose as she was jostled around.

_She’s cute_ , Yugi thought passively. He returned to his focus to his single pin arch nemesis.

“You got this,” Anzu encouraged.

“Jinxed,” Ryou said, the disappointed shake of his head present in his voice.

“Can you jinx something by calling it jinxed?” Honda wondered aloud.

“Will you _shut up_?” Yugi demanded, but it held no bluster.

He took another lunge and tossed his ball with a little bit more force than last time, with more success. It rolled merrily down the lane, and struck the one pin down. He pumped his fist like _he_ was the one who’d gotten a strike, turning back to his table of excited friends.

“I am the _king_ of _bowling_!” he declared, arms outstretched.

Ryou gave him a high five on his way to take his turn. “Watch your crown, Your Majesty.”

Yugi flinched as they passed each other, an image of a golden crown with an inlaid eye flashing through his mind. _Why do I need to worry about the crown?_ he panicked. _What happened to it? How would he know_?

He relaxed just as quickly when he realized that wasn’t at all what Ryou was talking about. Of course it wasn’t. Why would he even be talking about that? He wouldn’t. Obviously. He returned to his seat, hoping he didn’t look frazzled.

“Dude,” Ryuji said, getting his attention over the table with a snap of his fingers, “that girl in the next lane was totally checking you out.”

Yugi glanced to the lane over. There were at least six of them. He glanced back with a raised eyebrow. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“She— _Now,_ look.”

He rolled his eyes, but looked over anyway, folding his arms across the top of his still-backwards chair. To his surprise, there was actually someone looking at him.

It was woman with the glasses, the one that had gotten three strikes in a row. She was indeed looking at him, but she was also… getting closer? She had something clutched in her hand, approaching with determination.

“Hi,” she said, stopping right in front of Yugi.

“Hello there,” he replied, looking up with a confused smile. “Can I help you with something?”

She handed over what was in her hand – a napkin, with a phone number written on it. “I’m Rebecca. Call me sometime.”

He plucked the napkin from her hand. That was fast. “I’m Yugi. And, uh. I’ll think about it.”

Rebecca nodded, apparently satisfied, and marched back to her table and to her chattering friends. Yugi blinked after her, almost expecting to feel the effects of whiplash.

“Okay,” he said, to no one in particular. “Did that happen, or did I hallucinate it?”

Jou threw his arm around his shoulders and shook him. “It was real Yug’, nice going.”

“I didn’t even _do_ anything.”

“Just accept it,” Ryuji said. “You need this.”

Yugi scoffed, folding up the napkin into his pocket carefully. “I don’t _need_ anything.”

Jou retracted his arm. “You’ve been single for _ever_ , man.”

“And what if I’m perfectly alright being single?”

Ryuji and Jou gave each other matching Looks across the table. It was a half-truth, but Yugi would appreciate if his friends didn’t acknowledge the _other_ half. He flipped around in his chair to scold them. “And since when are either of you two _bachelors_ experts on my love life, huh?”

“Actually,” Jou said, raising a finger, “I’ve been seeing somebody.”

“Oh?”

“It’s only been a few dates, so I’m not sure how ‘official’ it is, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point, dear Katsuya?”

Jou narrowed his eyes at the mention of his first name. “The _point_ is, you need to get out more.”

“I get out plenty.”

Ryuji folded his hands on the table. “Yugi, you haven’t left your apartment since you moved in.”

Yugi put out his hands helplessly. “I’ve been job hunting, what do you want me to do?”

“And before that you hardly left the house either,” Jou added.

“We all go out sometimes.”

“When’s the last time you make a human connection outside of us, then?”

Yugi squeezed his mouth shut. Technically, he had a roommate, and been sharing a human connection with _him_ ever since he moved in. But he couldn’t tell his friends that.

Jou took this as an admonishment of victory. “Point made.”

“It doesn’t have to be a long-term thing,” Ryuji chimed in helpfully. “You don’t have to date or even _look_ for dates, but you can still…” he trailed off and moved his hands in a circle to imply the rest of his sentence.

Yugi furrowed his brows, not sure if he was more offended or surprised. “Are you implying that I’m dangerously isolated because I don’t have enough _sex_?”

Jou snorted into his hands, and Ryuji backtracked immediately. “No, no, no, I’m just saying that—”

“Ryuji, you’re up,” Ryou called, returning to his seat on the other side of Yugi.

Looking glad to be given an excuse to leave the conversation, Ryuji stood up with a two-fingered salute.

Jou took up the mantle of speaking in his absence, growing more serious. “What we’re saying is that we’re worried about you, Yug’.”

“Your worry is misplaced,” he insisted.

“No, I don’t think it is. Because when you throw yourself into something, you don’t come out easy. You worked yourself to the bone at your last job, and when they let you go, you _dropped_.”

“Well I’m getting a new job soon—”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Yug’. You’ve been searching for jobs for weeks, and doing _nothing_ else. I’m happy for you and the KCStudios thing, I really am, but you _can’t_ keep throwing yourself into the deep end anymore. It’s not healthy. And I think someone who was _always_ around to snap you out of it would really help. Us?” He gestured around at the group. “We’re all buddies. But you _don’t_ call us when you need help. That’s okay, I understand that. But _someone_ needs to help you, man. We can’t do that, not all the time at least.”

Yugi had been slowly sinking through the entirety of Jou’s speech, but the end is when he felt like a rock hitting the bottom of a lake. None of it was wrong, and what stung the most is that he _knew_ it wasn’t.

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”

Jou clapped him on the shoulder again, then stood up. “I’m going to get a gigantic soda, anybody else want anything?”

“A doctor on call,” Anzu muttered.

“Anyone who _isn’t_ a killjoy?”

Yugi tuned out the voices of his friends flinging their orders at Jou to quietly meditate on their conversation. It was true that he hadn't been in a "real" relationship since college, and while he didn't _hate_ being single, he wouldn't deny that he was a bit lonely without one. Maybe he _did_ need to get out more. Yugi put his chin in his hand and folded up the edge of an unused paper plate.

When he'd been dating someone, he had more to think about than just himself, which had been a strangely grounding thing. If he was forced to care about someone very close to him, he stopped burning out at work. He started thinking short-term, which he didn't do alone, and focused more on the day-to-day. Now, single again, all that stuff had flown out the window. 

He consistently worked himself hard because he didn't know what else to _do_ living by himself, _being_ by himself. Like Jou said, he didn't really call his friends about this sort of thing, and he has a good reason for it. They had their own lives, they shouldn't have to worry about his too. Their jobs wouldn't be put on hold if Yugi got lonely, and they couldn't just drop everything and move in together. Especially now that he was pretty confident he _liked_ his rickety old apartment with a ghost in it. 

Hey, wait. _Atem_ was a person. A dead person, sure, but they were _friends_. And since he literally couldn't leave the house, they were around each other pretty much all the time. Maybe Yugi didn't have to solve his problems with romance after all! 

As soon as he had the thought, he wished he could have given himself a withering look. Really? Trying to solve all his problems with _ghosts_? Who was he, Ryou? Plus, since when had Atem _agreed_ to be his stress reliever? It wasn't fair to just decide that, nor was it a good idea in the first place. If he was going to get serious about this, then he needed to _think_ seriously. About _alive people_. He glanced down at his pocket where the napkin was folded up.

The sound of clapping and clattering pins brought him out of his head, Ryuji lifting a random bowling ball above his head like King Kong while his own was shunted through the back of the lane. The screen above them announced his spare, along with the rest of their abysmal scores.

“Can I have my ball back?” Anzu asked, standing up for her turn. He handed it over, and she took her place at the front of the lane.

She drew back her arm and rolled the ball forward with all the grace her dancing career provided, perfectly balanced even as she stayed in her lunge and stared the ball down all the way to the pins. It slid across the lane fast, perfectly centered, hitting the front pin straight on—

“Yes!”

“Hell yeah!

“That was _amazing_ —”

“You’re the best of us, Anzu!”

“That was the cleanest strike I’ve ever _seen_ —”

Jou returned to the table with a tray of food to everyone jumping out of their chairs and doing their best to congratulate Anzu without tackling her to the ground. “What did I miss?”

 

 

Yugi pulled into his driveway at nine-thirty with a sore arm and a yawn. Bowling was hard, especially because he was bad at it. The rest of his night would be spent face down on the nearest flat surface that wasn’t made entirely of hornets.

He hopped out of his car and walked up the stairs, noticing a dim light flickering from one of the windows. _Atem must be doing something_.

“I’m home,” he called into the semi-dark house, kicking off his shoes.

“Welcome back,” Atem’s voice greeted, farther away than he expected. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was great.” Only then did he notice the source of the light he’d seen from the outside, and was forced to do a double take.

There were four lit candles sitting on the coffee table, surrounding a stack of books with a single spoon lying on top. It was the most bizarre collection of items he’d ever seen in one place, and could only conclude it was some kind of ritual.

“O-kay,” he said, warily hanging his keys back up on the rack. “What are you summoning in here?”

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” the ghost insisted. The notepad floated in from the kitchen, along with another spoon. Atem set it down across its pair, forming an X on the top book.

“Alright. Then what _are_ you doing?”

He waved the notepad around. “Is it not obvious?”

Yugi glanced between the display and the ghost, entering the house fully. “You’re drawing that?”

“Naturally.” The notepad settled itself as if on an invisible easel, the pen from that afternoon appearing as well.

Yugi leaned his hip on the arm of the couch. “Did you just set it up now?”

“Of course not.” Atem turned the notepad over, to reveal that the stack of books was the most finished-looking part of the drawing, candles in their basic-shape stage and spoons not even there yet. “I began a short while ago, with books only, but I was not satisfied.”

“Did the _spoons_ satiate your artistic cravings?”

The only sound for several seconds was the pen moving against the page. “Yes, I believe they have, thank you.”

Yugi snorted and hurdled the arm to plop down on the nearest cushion. “You’re so weird.”

“And _you_ speak to dead artists.”

“Only the royal ones.”

Atem huffed through his invisible nose, and continued drawing his strange collection of items. Yugi fished around in his pockets for his phone and the napkin he received – might as well punch in Rebecca’s number before he forgot her name. He hiked up one of his legs to lay flat on the cushion, draping the napkin across his knee. He opened up a new contact and hovered over his keyboard.

He wasn’t _really_ sure if he was going to do this or not, but might as well keep the option open. If he felt compelled to act on it. Eventually. One of these days. He’d get settled in his new job first. Maybe he wouldn’t need that sort of thing this time. Unlikely, but he could dream. He rolled his eyes at himself and started typing.

“What is this?” Atem asked. The napkin fluttered momentarily.

“It’s a napkin,” he said simply. He knew that’s not what Atem meant, but he was on the fence between playful teasing and actively avoiding the conversation.

“Brilliant as always,” the ghost replied, likely incapable of being more sarcastic if he tried.

Yugi shook out one hand as if he’d been burned. “Damn, can I cancel my subscription to your attitude?”

“Of course, as soon as you stop giving me a reason to have one.”

He put down his phone to smile sadly at the floating notepad. “Wow. It’s so cute that you think I care.”

The ghost tsk-ed, the shake of his head almost visible. “What a shame to enter a battle of wits only to find my opponent is unarmed.”

Yugi leaned forward and blew out the nearest candle. The other little flames flickered on their wicks along with Atem sputtering indignantly, the notepad dropping to the cushion and the pen shoved into his face. “You—Why would you—?”

Yugi laughed and shoved the pen aside. “Relax, I’ll stop.” He picked up one of the still-lit candles and used the flame to light the previously _un_ lit one. “There, all better.”

Atem harrumphed. “You still have not answered me.”

He smoothed the thin, papery napkin on his knee, the ink from the pen bleeding through to the other layers. “It’s a phone number. Some girl gave it to me at the bowling alley?”

The ghost was already back to sketching. “Whatever for?”

“It’s how people…” Yugi tipped back his head to think of a word that his two-hundred-year-old roommate would understand. “If someone is interested in you romantically, they give you their phone number so that you have a way to contact them if you _also_ want to get romantic.”

“Courtship?”

“I guess.” He got busy punching in the number, hoping that’s where Atem’s curiosity would end.

It wasn’t. “Does it happen often?”

He saved the contact and gave the ghost his full attention. “All the time. A lot of people do it.”

“Have you?”

“Not in a while. I haven’t been with someone in that way in a few years.”

“What happened?”

Yugi blew out his cheeks, but he figured they’d have this conversation eventually. He was surprised it didn’t happen earlier, if anything. “We just had different things in mind. I was looking for something more serious and he wasn’t int—”

The pen stopped sketching. “He?”

Shit.

He hadn’t mentioned that yet.

Yugi tried find any kind of tell from the invisible person next to him. “Yes,” he admitted slowly. “A man.”

He had never worried about Atem’s age before. It was a little hard to talk about anything modern, but a quick explanation usually cleared up most of the confusion. This, however, was something that had completely slipped his mind for whatever reason. And the age problem was suddenly at the forefront of his mind as it had never been before.

“You were… _with_ him?” the ghost asked.

“Yeah. For a while.”

“How?”

Yugi blinked. He wasn’t expecting that. He ran through a list of things that question could be pertaining to. “Carefully, I guess. We had to keep it to ourselves in public, but—”

“In _public_?”

Yugi startled at Atem’s interruption. It was so many things at once – confused, scared, disbelieving. Almost _incredulous_ , as if he’d said he could breathe in space.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The notepad had been forgotten, set off the to the side along with the pen. The ghost was kicking up a mini storm, blowing back Yugi’s hair, the flame of candles he’d been so worried about waving wildly. “You were _publicly_ with this man? People _knew_?”

“I mean, our friends and families and other people we could trust knew, but it’s—”

“Strangers? You told strangers?”

Yugi held up his hands in a _stop_ motion, genuinely worried that Atem was at risk of dying a second time. “You have _got_ to calm down for a second, please.”

The wind he’d been kicking up slowly died down. “My apologies, I am… It is quite a shock to hear, is all.”

Yugi suspected the culture clash was really hitting them now, but this didn’t _feel_ like a clash of culture. This felt like a revelation. But it couldn’t _possibly_ be going where he thought it was going, right?

“Yes, I was with a man,” he continued. “We were together for a year and a half, semi-publicly. Sometimes we had to keep it under wraps, but wasn’t a secret otherwise.”

Atem drank this in. “Not a secret,” he repeated to himself, amazed.

That all but confirmed Yugi’s suspicions, but there was only one way to know for sure. “Atem, are you—” He wouldn’t know that word. “Do you like guys?” There’s wasn’t a great chance he’d know that word either, but it was better than the alternative.

The ghost made a non-committal sound. Like he was afraid of something.

“It’s alright if you do,” Yugi encouraged. “I like everybody.”

“Everybody?”

He shrugged, trying to be as friendly and accepting as possible. “Yep. Girls, guys, both, neither, whoever.”

“Both or neither what?”

“Gender.”

“How can someone be neither? Or both?”

Yugi was _not_ prepared to have the entire conversation about the nuances of gender identity right now. “It’s probably a bit much to go over in one sitting, but it _is_ an option, and a lot of people take it. Even I thought about it a couple times.”

Atem didn’t have anything to say to that. The notepad wasn’t raised back, and he seemed to be completely disinterested in his strange tower altogether.

“There are words for it, you know,” Yugi continued. “For people like us.” He was assuming quite a lot with that statement, but he’d seen this before. People who were afraid to admit it. He’d been like that too.

“Words?” Atem asked. He was cautiously interested, like approaching a rare animal.

“A whole bunch of them. If you’re a woman who likes women, you’re a lesbian. If you’re a man who likes men, you’re gay. If you’re like me, that’s called bisexual. And if you’re different from the gender you were given at birth, you’re transgender. There’s more, but I’ll stop here.” Yugi didn’t want to _completely_ overwhelm this ghost from the 19th century with brand new words for things he’d probably never even considered.

Said ghost hadn’t made a sound or moved or even gave the impression he still _existed_. The only sound was of the sputtering candles, the only light in the house, washing over the couch and barely touching anything else.

Yugi tried another friendly smile and a shrug. “You don’t have to decide everything right now, or even tell me if you do. But it’s probably nice to know it’s an option, right?”

Atem finally spoke. “I… yes. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry ab—”

“Truly, Yugi. Thank you.” He sounded more serious than he’d ever sounded.

Yugi pawed at the cold spot at his side, as close as he could get to a playful shove. “Of course. We’re friends. Friends help each other.” He yawned suddenly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “And this friend is going to sleep.”

“Rest well. I will… be out here. For a short while longer.”

He got to his feet, crumpling the napkin in his hand. “Okay. Don’t burn the house down.” Atem made a noise of affirmation.

Yugi let the ghost have his thoughts to himself, tossing the napkin in the kitchen trashcan of his way to his room. He clicked his piercing against his teeth, debating how worth it going right to bed without taking it out would be. _Eh_. He had to brush his teeth, anyway, so might as well.

“Yugi?”

He stopped at the very front of the hall, turning around and leaning his head on the wall. “Yeah?”

“What… what did you say your word was?” Atem asked, tentative. Almost shy.

“My word? You mean bisexual?”

“Yes, that one. I—I like that one.”

Yugi laughed fondly, but he couldn’t quite pin down why. “Well, hey, congrats. I’ll get you a pride flag.”

“A what?”

He would have explained, but a yawn cut him off before he started. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he said instead.

“Goodnight.”

“Mhmm.”

Yugi turned his back on the dimly lit living room, leaving the ghost to watch the candles.

 

 

His sleep was restless that night.

_After closing his eyes, Yugi found himself in a plane of white. A void, an empty chasm. White, white, white, like the world had been covered in flat snow. He looked down at himself, wearing shoes and clothes and a strange golden collar._

_He took a step forward in the white space. His footfalls echoed across the plane endlessly, fading until it was too quiet to hear. It was like a rock falling down a chasm and never hitting the bottom. It had not ended. It was simply too far away. Somehow, he knew this._

_Yugi took another step forward, and another, and another, his footsteps echoing in their endless way, ringing in his ears and sending vibrations through his body. He walked, then jogged, then ran, then sprinted. He did not know what he was running from. Or to._

_“Stop,” said a voice, lacking the eternal echo of his feet. It was halfway familiar, so he stopped._

_“Who’s there?” he asked, his own voice also refusing to be parroted through the space._

_“A friend,” the voice told him, and a slight cold rushed up to his back. Two hands wrapped themselves around his shoulders. When he looked down, he could not see them. He turned around, and no one was behind him. The hands remained._

_Yugi smiled. He knew a friend with no body and a tongue-less voice. His next word was not a question, but a definitive statement. A declaration._

_“Atem.”_

_It was the wrong thing to declare._

_A skull-splitting screech tore from the invisible lips of whatever was behind him, sending him to his knees in agony. It continued to scream, scream,_ scream _in his face, like a banshee, a demon, a choir of tortured souls. He tried to lift his hands to cover his ears, but they stuck to his sides as if tied to his waist. He could only roll his neck and grit his teeth and_ cower _on the ground. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring, his heart racing, every bone in his body rejecting the sound. Something dripped from his mouth. He spat blood._

_When screaming stopped, Yugi could have cried._

_It was a short relief._

_“Do not speak to me,” said the voice, “of that man.”_

_“He’s my friend,” Yugi protested._

_“He is a_ monster _.”_

_These words dug into his mind and twisted like a knife. He shook his head as if to rid himself of it. “No. He’s not.”_

_“You are not looking.”_

_The hands on his shoulders grasped both side of his face and forced him to look up, to look ahead, to become slack jawed and obey._

_Yugi’s throat tightened at what he saw._

_A hulking beast made of darkness stood stark against the white. It was made of slick, oily shadows, and dripped rivulets of murky black from its form – skinny arms and legs, spindly, too-long fingers, a hunched back, a featureless head. It was familiar._

_“That’s not him,” Yugi said, his words like a prayer._

_“Is it not?” challenged the voice._

_The beast shifted, and he realized that the head had been featureless because it had not been facing him. In reality, it had exactly two features._

_The first was a smile. A smile with too many teeth, a smile that split the face in half, a smile that taunted and dared, a smile that was no longer a smile, but a laugh with no sound. It was laughing at him. At what he would soon become. He knew this._

_The second was a golden crown, a crown with a carved eye and two golden wings. It appeared to be slipping ever downward, sliding down the inky black, threatening to drop across the smile. It glinted and glittered._

_This was Atem. Yugi knew this, and yet, he did not. He refused the knowledge._

_“No,” he said. “You’re lying.”_

_“Then you will learn the truth,” the voice declared._

_The hands left his face, the cold disappeared, but the creature did not. It stayed, standing, smiling that horrible smile. Yugi remained on his knees, blood and spit at the corners of his mouth, staring at it, unable to look away. His throat tightened more._

_Tightened more._

_It was hard to breathe._

_He reached up to his neck, and felt the golden collar. It squeezed him. He was choking._

_The beast did not move. It smiled._

_“Help,” he coughed._

_The beast smiled._

_“Please!”_

_The beast smiled._

_Yugi continued to choke and cough and die and the beast continued to smile._

Atem _smiled._

 

 

Yugi shot awake, scrabbling at his throat and wheezing and sweating and _holy shit, what the_ fuck _was that_ —

“Are you alright?” Atem’s voice asked, suddenly next to him.

He jerked his head toward the ghost and made an effort to slow his breathing. “I—I’m fine. Nightmare is all.”

“You were thrashing about quite a bit.” A gust of wind passed over the bed, ruffling the twisted mass of sheets and blankets that Yugi had turned his bed into.

He swallowed, and rubbed at his throat. It felt sore. “Yeah. I’m okay now though.”

“You… called for me as well.”

Yugi froze, staring ahead into the air. “I did?”

“Twice.”

“Oh.” He _definitely_ wasn’t going to tell Atem about the dream. Nightmare. Whatever. He settled for a shrug with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“No need,” Atem insisted. It sounded like the conversation was over, but then he added, “Pardon me for possibly overstepping, but if I have done something to unnerve you—”

Yugi shook his head, putting out one hand placatingly. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.”

The glint of something golden caught in the corner of his vision. His eyes were drawn up to the shelf across from his bed, and locked onto the golden crown, sitting side-by-side with the puzzle box. He swallowed.

“You’re fine, Atem,” he insisted, flicking his gaze back to the ghost. “You’re just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Puterelle is an Old French slag term from the 1800s – it means a girl who “gets around,” if you feel me. If you don’t feel me, Atem called Yugi a slut. Feel free to interpret this however you like. 
> 
> 2) fun facts about the text message nicknames:  
> • jou’s name is a pun on “jounouchi” and “mochi”  
> • anzu’s name means “apricot” and peach is the closest emoji   
> • honda’s name means “rice patty” and it’s also the name of a brand of car  
> • ryou’s name is a pun on “ryou” and “shiryo” the Japanese word for/concept of a dead soul (i.e. someone’s soul when they die)  
> • I couldn’t think of a pun for ryuji, so he gets dice lol


	5. Body Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said there was a plot? im holding myself to that finally

Not for the first time, Yugi counted his blessings that his landlord didn't actually _live_ in the extra space underneath his apartment. He didn't have a roommate, as far as his rent was concerned, so a second voice upstairs would have definitely raised some questions. That's not even mentioning the suspicious lack of body attached to said voice. 

Instead of a living space, the lower level functioned as an all-purpose storage facility and office for the landlord, a place that he visited twice a week, if that, in and out in two hours max. Paying rent was essentially a game of luck for Yugi, guessing when his landlord be in his office for the day, before he left in a hurry as he always did, sometimes dropping off more junk, sometimes taking stuff with him. It was strange – even though he was renting the place out, he didn't seem to want anything to do with it. 

This month, Yugi got lucky. He saw a car that wasn't his pull into the driveway that afternoon and dashed to his desk to scrawl a check, seal it up, and head downstairs. Might as well get it out of the way early, before his two-hour window was up.

He (carefully) skipped down the steps, envelope clutched in one hand, doubling back under them to enter the lower level. But stopped when he noticed the front door wide open.

"Mister Fukuyama?" he called, rapping on the doorframe.

No one answered.

The lower level was dead silent. Yugi entered warily, the wooden boards squeaking underneath his feet. Darkness settled in the corners of the room by the shuttered windows, stacks of boxes and old furniture shoved against the walls. The "office" part of the building was closed, a sign that said OUT turned over on a door immediately ahead. Yugi tried the handle – locked.

"Hello?" he asked, a bit quieter and significantly more nervous. No one answered, which made him feel even worse. Fukuyama's car was parked, he saw when he looked over his shoulder, and the trunk was popped open. So where was he?

Yugi took to wandering around the storage space, stepping over haphazardly placed boxes, crates, and upturned chairs. He nearly kicked over a vase sitting on the floor before he noticed where his foot was landing. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed in weeks – _months_ , even – thick layers of dirt and dust coating every surface, sending clouds of cough-inducing particles into the air every time he bumped into something by accident.

Something hairy brushed against the back of his arm and he whirled around fast, backing into an old wooden desk. Something slid off and landed on the floor with a hefty _thud_. Yugi winced, hoping it wasn't antique. Or breakable.

The offender of touching him turned out to be the ugliest lamp he'd ever seen, the oblong shade covered in faux peacock feathers, most of them faded or falling off. He made a face at it, stepping back around, and peeking over the desk to see what had fallen off. It was a journal. It looked important.

Yugi set down his envelope on the face of the desk and sighed. He should put it back before he got caught messing with his landlords stuff. He got down on all fours and reached around one of the desk legs, sandwiched between it, several boxes, and the disgusting lamp, to grab it, sliding the leather-bound pages across the dusty floor. He stood up and _meant_ to put it back where it belonged… but he didn’t.

Looking at the journal up close, it was obviously very old. It was tied together with a chord of leather, keeping the book shut, but the edges of the pages were clearly yellowed and falling apart. It even smelled old, like rot and dirt, as if it had been sitting in a basement for a hundred years. For all he knew, it probably had. He ran his hand across the smooth cover, brushing off layers of dust.

He should have put it back.

A strange feeling crawled up his back and slithered across his neck to perch on his shoulder. It started tap-tap-tapping on the curve of his arm, like impatiently drumming fingers. Someone was breathing in his ear, silently daring him to move. Someone was passing a hand through his hair, tucking a finger behind his ear and sliding it down his neck. It was frightfully cold, and he sucked in a breath when he remembered:

Atem couldn’t get downstairs.

Yugi shook himself all over, brushed his hands through his hair and his over his arms, trying to rid himself of whatever the hell was touching him, muttering _get off, get off, get off_. But he didn't feel anything leave. He also didn’t feel anything on him. At all. The feeling had just disappeared.

He wiped his dusty hand on his jeans, and glanced around warily. “Fuck off,” he warned.

If there was a second ghost, he'd figure out how to deal with it in a more concrete way later. Until then, he decided to ignore it for his sanity's sake.

Despite his freak-out, there was something compelling about the journal in his hands, and it instantly captured his attention again. Before he could even register what he was doing, the leather strap was already off, and he'd flipped the cover open. The first page answered the question of who it belonged to, written in a flowing script:

 

_Property of Mushir Sa'adeddin Hazim_

 

He turned to a random page, taking care to not rip the pages. The handwriting was difficult to make out from years of age and wear, but he could just barely read it.

 

_April 14th, 1848_

 

_Allah clearly approves of my mission, granting me a small blessing as of late. The Khedive has fallen ill, unfit to rule, and the council is preparing that mistake of a man to take over as regent. Eventually as the new khedive. I would rather have the bastard son on the throne than this fool. With the Khedive now incapacitated, the opportunity to correct this imbalance should come swiftly. _

 

Yugi's eyes grew ever larger as he read the passage. Did he just stumble upon someone planning a _murder_? 

He quickly turned back a few pages, looking for some sort of legible context. So much of the journal was unreadable, though; it was hard to find something that made sense, much less explained what the hell was going on.

A tiny piece of paper fluttered out from between the pages. Yugi tried to snatch it out of the air, but couldn't grab it before it landed on the floor and slipped under the desk. He frowned at it, getting down on all fours with the book in one hand and reaching for the paper with the other.

 

_October 5th, 1826_

 

_Ever since the rebellion from al-Salimiyyah, the Khedive has been fearing a collapse of his power. He pays no mind to the fact that this revolt and all others before it were defeated easily, as I and many others have told him. He insists he must win the people's hearts, for the good of the Ottomans._

_And now, out of some foolish scheme to get the people back under his control, the Khedive has privately announced to his council a man who should act as regent, instead of his son, illegitimate though he may be. This new man is called—_

 

No matter how hard he tried, Yugi couldn’t make out the name of whoever this guy was talking about. It looked like it had been frantically scratched out, ink splotches splattering around the place the name should have been. He skipped to the next paragraph, his fingers finally grasping the loose sheet of escaped paper. 

 

_—family is from before the Empire, very rich in trade and too valuable to be dissolved, or so they say. I disagree. His ostentatious presentation is reason enough to put him to the torch, flaunting his family’s wealth every chance he gets. He is educated, and is far too proud of it – he seems to have no humble bone in his body. He speaks with the council as if playing a game, and walks as if he already rules Egypt._

_But this decision is even more disastrous than having to spend most of my days with a headache. This man is Egyptian, and he will side with his countrymen over the “good of the Ottomans” that the Khedive insisted was so important to him. If anything, he is the worst decision for regent possible. His loyalties lie elsewhere than the Empire, and no amount of “training” that he receives will correct that. _

_This insolent man, this "new regent" will never be my khedive. I would rather die than see him rule._

 

Yugi sucked in a tiny breath through his teeth, shaking his head. This guy clearly needed to get a hobby. 

He closed the journal, keeping his thumb on the page. Still kneeling under the desk, he inspected the paper that had slipped out when he was flipping through the entries. But he realized it wasn't just paper. It was a photograph 

It was incredibly old, somehow not falling apart from age, and Yugi almost felt bad for handling it so roughly. He couldn't tell how old it was exactly, but it looked like some of the first pictures ever taken – a daguerreotype. Black and white, faded, a strange white film over the entire picture.

In spite of himself and what he'd just read, Yugi couldn’t help but nod approvingly at the subject in front of the camera. A dark-skinned man, no older than thirty, sat in front of the camera with a look of pride and confidence, like he knew he was important, and so should you. His face was made of sharp angles and made him look sculpted intentionally. It was hard to really get any concrete features across due to the quality, but he certainly wasn’t an eyesore.

The man wore what was probably traditional at the time for wherever he was – Egypt? The Ottoman Empire? – which included a lot of expensive looking layers in a lot of patterns. His dark hair was messy and wild, ironic considering how put together and well off the rest of him looked. The only thing holding back the dark waves from his face was a crown sitting on the edge of his brow, a strange rectangle shape covering a space by his temple. Funny, it kind of looked like…

No. No way.

It couldn't _possibly_ be him.

Yugi flipped the picture over to the back, and his blood ran red hot and ice cold at the same time.

In delicate handwriting, clearly different from the journal’s owner, the back of the daguerreotype read:

 

_Atem Al Sadat_

_July 26th, 1845_

 

But if _this_ was Atem, then that means the _journal_...

"Holy shit," he whispered, glancing between the artifacts in his hands.

"Mister Mutou? Is that you?"

Yugi shot straight up and banged his head on the edge of the desk. He swallowed a colorful exclamation of pain as pretty stars burst before his eyes and instead called, "Yep, that's me."

He popped up from the floor – avoiding the desk this time – and saw Fukuyama standing in the open front door, a box in his arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Yugi suddenly went blank. "Uh. I'm—paying rent!"

He spun around and snatched his envelope off the desk, replacing it with the journal. He quickly shoved the daguerreotype into one of his pockets before turning back around.

He waved the envelope triumphantly, and made his way through the maze of junk to his landlord. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop, but I couldn't find you and the office door was locked.”

"That's alright," Fukuyama said, though his disgruntled face said otherwise. He set down the box outside and plucked the envelope out of Yugi's hand. "What were you looking at?"

"An old journal. It was on the desk."

"The leather one?"

"Yeah, it's really fascinating. Whoever wrote it sure did have some interesting stuff to say." _About murder, among other things._

A curious look came over him. "How could you read it?"

"What do you mean? I just untied the cord and—"

"It's written in Arabic, not to mention damaged. _I_ can't even read it, and it's been in my family for generations."

It was written in _what_? 

Yugi forced himself to retain a polite smile while he panicked. "Oh, you know. Hobbies. It's a beautiful language."

"Sure." 

"I'm just gonna head back up." He squeezed past Fukuyama and waved as he headed toward the stairs. "Have a good day!"

The landlord waved back weakly, but said nothing. The last thing Yugi saw before he went up the stairs was Fukuyama scratching his head while looking inside the storage room.

He took the steps up two at a time, rushing into the apartment and locking the door behind him, back pressed against it like a barricade. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, but he could hardly hear it over the noise in his brain.

Yugi _could not_ read Arabic. He didn't know the first thing about the language, not a single word or letter. So _how the hell_ had he been able to read that journal?

The pages flashed before his mind. They had all seemed to be written so clearly in Japanese, but the more he thought about them, the more the script on the pages changed, warped, the lines stretching and flattening out into a script he couldn't possibly read. Every single page had been like that. The ones he skipped over… he'd thought they were just old and ruined. But _why_ could he read the entries he had? If everything else was written in Arabic, what was so different about those two entries? What had possessed him?

_Possessed_ him.

He remembered the second presence and almost whimpered. _Oh God._

"Are you quite alright, Yugi?"

Something familiar and cold brushed his arm and he let himself relax, just a little. He didn't come away from the door.

"Yes," he said, "I'm fine."

"You do not look it."

Atem _really_ did not need to know about this. “It’s nothing,” Yugi promised. He shoved his hands in his pockets in an attempt to look nonchalant. His fingers brushed against something papery.

Oh right. He smiled down at his pocket. Maybe Atem should know about _that_.

“Check out what I found,” he said, pulling out the picture. It was slightly bent from how he’d stuffed it into his jeans, but smoothing it out proved to be an easier task than it seemed. He handed it over to the ghost at his side.  

Atem took it. Invisible fingers folded back the crumpled edges. His voice was weak and reverent when he asked, "What?"

"That's you, isn't it?" Yugi took the picture and flipped it around, pointing at the name and date – also in Arabic, on the second look. He hoped it would look like a guess. "When you were alive."

The ghost turned the daguerreotype over again to the face. "I looked like this."

It wasn't a question.

"I looked like _this_."

Everything happened so fast.

An explosion of light blinded Yugi and sent him cowering away from the door, backing up into the living room, bending at the waist with his hands shielding his eyes. His back collided with one of the dinner table chairs, and he braced himself against it, squinting into the light where the ghost had once been.

There wasn't much to see besides white light so bright it burned. Through the glare he could just barely make out shadows coming together, forming the familiar shape of a hand, and leg, a neck. The light swirled like a tornado around the shapes forming inside it, spinning faster than he'd ever seen anything move.

It was too much, he had to look away, squeezing his eyes shut and seeing dancing colors and sunspots behind his eyelids. As bright as the light was, there wasn't any heat radiating from it – if anything, the room temperature had dropped five degrees.

And just like that, it was over. Yugi saw the light against his eyelids disappear, he felt the temperature rise instantly. He carefully peeled his eyelids open, still braced against the chair.

At the front door, there was a man. He wasn't facing Yugi, staring down at something in his hand. What was strange about the man is that he was transparent – only barely opaque, and tinged a light gray. It was hard to focus on him without squinting, and he almost disappeared in the direct sunlight filtering through one of the nearby windows. It was like staring at the outline of a person.

The man rolled his shoulders and tilted his head side to side, as if he were stretching. A band wrapped around his head, a pair of wings splaying out from the front just barely visible. It glowed a bright, solid gold for a short moment before dimming and becoming see-through like the rest of him.

Obviously, there was only one person this man could possibly be.

"Atem?" Yugi asked, still unsure about all of this.

The man pressed a transparent hand to his transparent head. "I do not believe I can ever properly thank you for this, Yugi."

He turned around, staring down at the daguerreotype. Then he looked up, with an astounded and grateful smile that crossed his entire face. 

And Yugi was not prepared for _any_ of it.

"Wow," he said, barely registering the word. He thought the _picture_ was good looking, but in person, Atem was absolutely gorgeous. He didn't have the mental capacity to slap himself out of thinking that. 

For the second time in ten minutes, Atem asked, "Are you quite alright?"

Yugi shook himself and blinked. "Yeah—I'm just. Uh. Yeah." _Real smooth_. "You look great," he added, in an attempt to save himself.

Atem rubbed the back of his neck. "Truly?"

Was he… _shy_?

For some reason, that made Yugi feel a lot better, enough to smile. "Not too bad for a-hundred-and-seventy-four, anyway."

He laughed lightly, flipping over the picture to read the date. "I suppose I am quite old. Though this was taken when I was twenty-eight."

"Age is just a number," he blurted, and immediately regretted it. _Think with your brain_! he chastised himself. 

Atem was unphased. "After this long, I am not aging. So it really _is_ just a number."

"Uh-huh."

He could have been talking about the most boring thing in the world, and Yugi would have been enthralled for hours. The functional half of his brain was locked away somewhere in the darkest corner of his mind, screaming at him to get a grip, while the rest of him was busy drinking in every transparent detail of the ghost in front of him. 

There were some features that the near-two-hundred-year-old camera didn't capture, noticeable right away. Like the red-brown pools of his irises, the sharp hook of his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose arcing out from his face, the tiny dimples that appeared when he smiled. The bottom half of his body was now visible, too, the rest of those expensive-looking layers dropping to his ankles as long robes, loose trousers and a tunic on under them, and his waist bound with a sash of some kind. Yugi hoped he didn't look like he was checking him out, even though he totally was. 

"Where did you find this?" Atem asked, holding up the picture.

Oh no. A question. That required a response.

Yugi forced himself to stop staring and look him in the face— Wow, that wasn't helping. That was the _opposite_ of helping.

"Uh," he said, intelligently. "Downstairs."

"Your landlord's office?" 

"The uh. The storage part, with all the junk in it." 

Atem nodded, staring down at the picture and humming curiously. "Strange. I wonder why he had it."

"Maybe it came with the crown. From however you got here."

Now that Atem had a face, it was much easier to read his expressions instead of just guessing. His jaw clenched and his brows deepened into a frown. "Likely," he said, terse. Angry. 

Yugi did not like that look. He did his best to placate it. "The important thing is that you're back, right?" 

He relaxed as quickly as he'd tightened up, looking up with another delicate smile to knock Yugi off his feet. "You are right. I should enjoy this."

_I certainly am_ , he almost replied, before biting his tongue – literally. He nodded instead, not trusting himself to speak with a gigantic foot in his mouth.

Atem moved. He drifted through the air like water, simply leaning in the direction he wanted to go and heading there. He didn't seem to be propelled by anything, his body just carrying itself across the room.

Toward Yugi.

Uh oh.

The ghost held the photograph in his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world, and that hadn't changed by the time he was in front of Yugi, who was trying to look as nonchalant as possible without looking Atem in the face. 

"I think," the ghost began, and a cold, _visible_ hand carefully lifted Yugi's up from where it dangled at his side, "you should keep this."

Yugi stared at his hand like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and watched as Atem's other hand reached out and place the daguerreotype in his palm.

He was momentarily shocked out of his daze. "The picture? But it's yours." 

"And I am giving it to you."

Yugi finally made himself make direct eye contact – he had to look up, the ghost a head taller than him. "Why?"

"Think of it as thanks. A reminder of what you have done for me." He gestured to himself with a little smile. "Which is quite a lot. Take it." He closed Yugi's fingers with his own, and drew his hands back.

Yugi looked between his closed hand and the ghost in front of him, feeling the weight of the gift he'd received. He said exactly one thing, staring up into the eyes of a dead king:

"You're tall."

Atem blinked, confused, as if he'd only just realized his own height. He looked down at himself, and laughed. "No, I am definitely not."

Yugi almost protested, seeing as he had to _look up_ to meet his eye, but paused when he looked down as well. The ghost's feet were hovering at least six inches off the floor.

"Hey," he said instead, "that's cheating."

Atem did a merry backflip, "landing" in midair, lounging on his stomach with his legs kicked back and his hands under his chin. "I can cheat as much as I like."

He put his hands on his hips, careful not to crush the picture. "You're breaking short people code!"

"I daresay deserve a chance to be tall in death."

Yugi dragged a hand down his face. “Being short around you is going to be torture.” _For more reasons than one_.

“I promise to be only minimally unbearable.”

Yugi meant to giggle, but it quickly dissolved into full-blown laughter, bubbling up from a distracted headspace, more than a few nerves, and a resigned “fuck it” attitude. Because _damn_.

He’d only just gotten used to the voice, too.

 

 

Yugi caught himself noticing things again.

Having a whole other body in the house, even if it was transparent and incorporeal most of the time, made it a little more difficult for him to _not_ notice things about Atem’s new form. It automatically drew his eye because it was new. He wasn’t used to it. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

One thing that wasn’t difficult to notice was that Atem was almost never standing upright – or even _standing_ at all. He was always floating above the ground, lounging in the air as if sitting on an invisible recliner, or on his stomach, or even _upside-down_ if he was particularly bored, head tipped back and hands folded on his stomach, feet kicking in the air like a child. In the week since he’d gotten his body back, the only time he ever sat in a relatively normal position was when he was drawing.

Yugi observed it himself from the dinner table, pretending to be engrossed in his phone but actually watching Atem sketching across the room. A chess set or something. The subject of the art wasn’t his highest priority to be fair.

Atem _always_ crossed his legs when he was drawing, no matter if he was floating in the air or sitting on the couch. Even now, floating above the coffee table, he sat knee over knee, notepad resting on his thigh, with his right hand keeping the page steady and the left moving the pen with practiced precision. Oh, and he was left-handed. That was something else Yugi had noticed.

It was almost mesmerizing to watch Atem draw. He relaxed in a way not even _genuinely_ relaxing seemed to make him, focusing on nothing else. His face loosened, softening in Zen stillness, nothing moving but his eyes to flick back and forth across his subject and across the page. Yugi was afraid to make a sound if Atem was sketching in the same room, for fear of breaking his trancelike state. He wanted to take a picture of it every time, to capture that tiny, peaceful moment forever, but he held back for courtesy’s sake. Not to mention that Atem hardly even showed up in _mirrors_ – pictures would probably reduce him to a smudge.

Still…

Yugi looked at the phone in his hand, open to an app he hadn’t been paying attention to since he sat down. The urge to try never left him. Maybe one day he’d have the courage to snap a candid, but not today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. He sighed a little through his nose, and looked back up—

Only to find Atem was looking right back, with a curious smile.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Yugi’s mouth dried up like a desert. “Nope.”

The ghost lifted one of his sharp brows. “Quite sure?”

“Yep.”

He shrugged one shoulder as if saying _Alright, whatever you say_ , and returned to his art. Yugi relaxed, but only fractionally, ducking back down into his phone. He tried to ignore the embarrassed flush crawling up his neck, with limited results.

Another thing to notice: Atem was remarkably observant, even when he appeared distracted.

Though that might be less of the ghost’s perception and more Yugi being predictable. Even after being caught so brazenly, he wanted to glance back up and continue watching Atem sit there. He found himself staring at the dead artist more often than not these days, a fact that he would happily admit to himself and _die_ before telling anybody else.

There was something compelling about him, something beyond his looks – which were definitely a factor. Save for when he was drawing, Atem moved like a quiet storm, poised like a cat ready to pounce, clearly prepared for anything. Even lounging the air as he did, he looked like he was lounging on a throne, and Yugi half-expected him to start giving orders around the house. He didn’t even seem to _know_ how he commanded attention, which only made it worse. Atem drew the eye like something loud in a quiet room, something you have to look at, at least once, before returning to whatever you were doing. Or, in Yugi's case, completely forget what you were doing and continue staring.

He pouted at his phone, not sure if he was mad at himself for being creepy or mad at Atem for noticing. Maybe both?

There was a part of him that was annoyed with his incessant fascination. Resented the fact that he noticed gravity didn’t apply to the ghost, his clothes and hair and limbs only moving when he moved them. Or that he carried the notepad under his arm all the time, as if it was some important document. Or that he was tapping the end of the pen against his lips right now—

_Bad Yugi!_ he scolded, forcing his eyes back down. _Stop doing that._

He set down his phone, pushed himself out of his chair, and walked stiffly down the hall to his room. He needed to do something else. _Anything_ else. Something distracting and non-ghost-related.

Unfortunately, this proved to be more difficult than it should have been, because he sat down at his desk and spotted Atem's daguerreotype laying innocently across his keyboard. He picked it up carefully, feeling a little guilty about just leaving it out. He needed to find a _real_ place for it, but he was short on picture frames and he doubted a plastic sleeve meant for a trading card would do it justice. 

Just for kicks, he flipped over the picture and looked at the writing. Still there. Still in Arabic. 

Ever since his run in with the language-changing journal, Yugi had been trying to convince himself it was some kind of elaborate hallucination, but the universe was onto him. No matter how many times he scanned over the back of the daguerreotype, it was still unreadable. Atem could read it fine, of course, and was amazed at Yugi's "spectacular guess _"_ as to what it said. He had laughed it off, saying the crown was what _really_ gave it away. He hoped it was a reasonable lie.

Yugi chewed on his bottom lip, setting the picture to the side. He still hadn't told Atem about the journal. Or the presence he felt before opening it.

Thoughts of the journal and whatever was in the room with him when he read it had been plaguing him almost constantly, and he made sure not to go near the bottom floor of his apartment just in case. He wasn't even sure if it was _really_ there. But he'd made the same mistake with Atem, and whatever this other thing was, it didn't seem nice. To be fair, he'd made _that_ mistake with Atem, too, but…

He shivered at the memory of unfamiliar hands on his neck. The breathing. The threatening words from the entries.

He didn't get the feeling this particular spirit would be roommate material.

But if it _was_ a spirit, that meant it had to have some _reason_ to be on the mortal plane, right? Atem hadn't talked about – or, rather, refused to talk about – why he still stuck around. The only exception was every time Yugi brought up his assassination, his face contorting in thinly veiled rage as he changed the subject as fast as he could. Clearly, he was still working through some things. That was _his_ reason for sticking around. 

If the journal _did_ belong to whoever assassinated Atem – and Yugi was ninety percent sure it was – then why would he even need to be a ghost? His job was done, he killed the khedive he didn't want, problem solved. So what was he still _doing_ here? 

A distant beeping sound interrupted his thoughts. A _familiar_ beeping sound. It was his phone alarm, coming from a far away. But why?

Yugi almost smacked himself – he left his phone on the table. 

He had only just gotten to the front of the hall when the alarm got louder, and he walked right into Atem carrying his phone. 

Walked right _through_ Atem would be a better way to describe it, because he passed in the front and out the back of the transparent body, barely containing a gasp. It felt like walking through a waterfall made of ice, his whole body washed with an unnatural cold. He shivered and turned around, the alarm still blaring.

"Whoops," he said, keeping his chattering teeth to a minimum. "Sorry about that,"

Atem didn't look comfortable either, floating rigid with one arm across his stomach like he was going to be sick, the other holding the phone outstretched, as if to hand it over. He didn't turn around when he said, "No matter.”

Yugi stepped back around so he could see the front of the ghost. "Is everything alright?"

Atem looked somewhere between paralyzed and hopped up on every drug known to mankind. "Perfectly fine. It was the strangest feeling, is all. My _word_ ," he added under his breath.

"I'll try to keep my phasing through you to a minimum."

He laughed, but it was strained. "Please do."

Yugi carefully plucked the still-blaring phone from his hand and swiped the alarm off. The label read "GET READY FOR KCS!" and he smiled like a kid on Christmas. It was almost time!

“Hey, you still wanted to help me get ready for the interview right?” he asked.

Atem brightened from his stupor. “Of course I do.”

“Then let’s get started!”

After some prodding about the state of his clothes and getting Atem to admit that his family had gotten filthy rich by trading dyes and fabrics, Yugi had taken to asking him for fashion advice. Though he insisted that his family’s business with the stuff almost two hundred years ago didn’t make him an expert, Atem seemed to have an eye for style and _real_ advice to give. Most of the time. A lot of the clothes that Yugi owned were things he didn’t _quite_ know how to work with, but in the case of dress clothes, in which Yugi had very little experience and Atem had _plenty_ , he was more than happy to assist.

“Is there something in particular you want?” the ghost asked, holding up two of Yugi’s dress shirts – one white the other a pale lilac. He tossed the white one on the bed, along with every relatively nice piece of clothing they could find.

“Not really?” Yugi admitted in front of the mirror, shedding another outfit they’d given the definite _no_. “The place isn’t insanely formal, but I don’t want to look like I don’t care.”

“I see.” He gave the lilac shirt another once over and tossed it Yugi’s way, along with a pair of gray slacks. “Try these. The colors draw just enough attention to make you stand out.”

He stuck his arms through the shirt, but widened his eyes apprehensively. “Stand out?”

“You want this potential employer to _remember_ you, yes?”

He stepped into the slacks. “I don’t want to be _too_ flashy.”

“A certain amount of ‘flash’ is to be expected.” Atem plucked a silver tie from the bed, holding it with an experienced eye. “If you catch the eye, you catch the mind.”

Yugi buttoned the shirt up to his neck, smoothing the wrinkles. “I’m just worried about looking like a prick.”

“Nonsense.” Atem swept behind him and draped the silver tie over his neck, circling the bed to look over the jackets. “If they cannot look past your appearance, you need not waste your time with them.”

He tied a quick Windsor knot and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just _really_ nervous.”

The ghost returned with a silver-gray vest to match the tie, folding it over Yugi’s shoulder. “No matter what you wear, your talent will speak for itself. Have faith.”

Yugi stuck his arms through the vest, folding it over his tie. “Have faith. Right.”

The outfit didn’t look half bad, he decided, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He tugged at the sleeves of the lilac shirt, straightening his back in an approximation of confidence. It certainly knocked the checkered shirts out of the park, which they both vowed to set on _fire_ after this.

Atem came around to look him up and down, a hand stroking his chin. “I suppose if you _wanted_ , you could add a jacket.”

Yugi shook his head, twisting his shoulders around to try and see how he looked from the back. “I actually like this one a lot.”

“I do as well. But…”

“But?”

He smiled like he had a secret. “Stay there.”

The ghost whisked himself through the air to the highest point in the room – up to the shelf. Yugi was still psyching himself up in the mirror, combing his fingers through his hair, and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He liked the outfit, he really did, but a part of him wondered _Is it too much? Not enough?_

He hardly noticed the blurry figure in the mirror behind him, and it wasn’t until he felt cold metal pressing against his forehead and slipping over his ears that he realized what was going on. He raised a hand to his head, a confused smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“There,” Atem said, his voice soft and proud. Cold hands dropped to Yugi’s shoulders and squeezed. “ _Now_ you are ready.”

Yugi stared at the crown on his head, running his fingers along the golden band on his face, covered slightly by his bangs, and the wings branching off from his temples. The inlaid eye glittered mysteriously, winking in the light as he turned his head slightly. Then he realized what he was doing and laughed, mostly at himself.

“Alright, stopping messing around,” he said, and looked over his shoulder with a crooked smile.

Atem pulled back, lifting one hand off Yugi’s shoulder and drawing it to his chest. He was smiling too, but it was shy, breathless. He didn’t seem to have heard a word Yugi said.

He tried again. “Atem?”

The ghost blinked rapidly and completely pulled away, pushing himself off the air like he was floating in a pool. “Yes! Yes. Right.” He cleared his throat and stood at attention, hands folded behind his back.

Yugi chose to ignore… whatever just happened. He took off the crown and shook out his bangs, handing it back. “Thanks, but I think this is more _your_ style.”

 Atem took the crown and rushed away to put it back. “As you wish.”

Yugi looked back in the mirror and smoothed himself out again. “Okay. I should probably get going.” He turned around and grimaced at the mess that they’d torn out of his closet.

“I can take care of this,” Atem insisted, floating in on his side, elbow propped up on nothing and legs curled back to his hips.

“You sure?”

The ghost waved him off. “Of course, go. You have been waiting far too long for this.”

Yugi gathered his things and took one last look at himself before crossing his fingers as he backed out of the bedroom. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!”

And if, after Yugi was gone, Atem buried his ghostly hands in his hair with bewildered frustration, no one was ever the wiser.

 

 

Yugi flung open the front door that evening and crowed, “Guess who is _now_ _employed_!”

He twirled into the house and bumped the door closed with his hip, grocery bag clutched in one hand and the other already loosening his tie and undoing the restrictive buttons at his collar.

Atem darted up from the couch and flew over with a childlike smile. “You already know?”

“The interview went so well they put me to work right away! That’s why I’m home so late but—” he finally couldn’t resist the squeal of pure excitement he’d been holding back all day and kicked off his dress shoes – literally. “I’m just so excited!”

“This is wonderful news!”

Yugi took Atem by the shoulders as best he could. “We’re making up for not celebrating before. _Right_ now. Come here, look what I bought.” He danced across the room to the dinner table, the ghost hot on his heels, and set the bag on the table. “First, this is for you.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a thick, ringed, seven-by-ten sketchbook. The cover was brown, with an almost-cardboard texture, a picture of someone drawing something in pencil displayed proudly in the center. He slid it to where Atem had taken up residence, perched on the back of one of the chairs.

“For me?” he asked, pointing at the sketchbook.

Yugi was in such a good mood he actually laughed. “Well, _yeah_. I can’t draw for shit, who else would it be for? And—” he pulled out a pack of half a dozen colored pens, “—I know you’ve had to make do with my awful pens fore _ver_ , so I got you some real ones. They aren’t the best, but—”

“Yugi, we are supposed to be celebrating _you_ ,” Atem insisted, taking the gifts with an astounded look.

He put up a finger. “We _also_ decided your birthday was the date on the back of that picture, remember?”

The ghost was already flipping through the blank pages, running his fingers over them to feel the quality. “I do.”

“That means I missed your birthday last month, and I’m making up for it now.”

Atem closed the sketchbook with a _snap_. “You did not have to do this for me.”

“Except I totally did.”

“Yugi—”

“I will accept no protests!”

Atem conceded with a shake of his head. “Then you must accept my thanks instead.”

Yugi preened. “You’re very welcome.” He turned back to the grocery bag, one last bulky item remaining inside. “And now for _my_ present. From me, to me.” Swiping the bag away he plunked down a bottle of Merlot.

Atem looked between him and the bottle. “You do not plan on drinking all of that tonight, do you?”

“Who do you think I am?” he scoffed. He picked up the bottle and made his way to the kitchen. “I only plan on drinking _most_ of it.”

After popping open the wine, pouring himself a _generous_ amount in an unbreakable plastic wine glass, and taking _both_ back to the living room, Yugi collapsed on the couch. He set the open Merlot on the coffee table and sunk into the cushions with his glass and taking a sip. Atem was already there, floating just above the floor at the table, cracking open his new pens and testing them by drawing shapes and squiggles on the first page of the sketchbook.

“I’ll finish this,” Yugi told him, pointing at the wine, “and then we can play something if you want. _Battleship_ rematch?”

“I would like that,” the ghost said. “Can we play questions?”

“Sure! It’s been a little while, so you better have some fresh new questions for me.”

“And you, me.”

“Count on it.”

Yugi tugged at his tie again, kicking up one foot to rest on the opposite knee, letting his leg bend and fall open to the side. He hadn’t been this happy about something in ages – happy enough to buy _wine_. Maybe he shouldn’t drink half the bottle tonight and savor the event a little more. He lifted the glass to his lips again—

“Wait, wait. Don’t move.”

Despite the very clear instructions, Yugi flipped his head to the side at words that hadn’t referred to him in _quite_ a while.

Atem was already up from his place on the floor, three different colored pens in hand – blue, black, and purple – with the glint in his eye that had only recently become familiar. The spark of creativity that he always got when he wanted to draw, when he saw something _worth_ drawing. Yugi’s heart jumped into his mouth when he realized that “something” was _him_ again.  

“Don’t move how?” he asked. He’d relatively frozen in place, but if he knew one thing about his roommate’s art process, it was that there was _always_ a better pose.

Atem flipped open the sketchbook to a fresh, un-tested page, lips pressed together in thought. “Hm… Allow me?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The ghost set his materials down again, and rushed forward to float on his stomach in front of Yugi, feet kicked back and just barely visible over his head. Enthralled with whatever vision was coursing through his mind’s eye, Atem got right to work posing Yugi’s arms and face and even adjusting his clothes, rumpling his shirt and rolling up one of his sleeves to make him look just slightly more disheveled than he already was.

“Can I still drink my wine while you do this?” Yugi asked. He was frozen in place his free arm thrown across the back of the couch, the one holding the glass aloft in midair, pressed just barely against his mouth. Atem had tilted his head to the side, so he would stare right at the spot he’d be sketching from. Right now, he was just getting a face full of barely-there ghost, still engrossed in his modeling.

So engrossed, it was unclear if he was even paying attention. “Mm.”

The ghost floated slightly back to inspect his work. Then tilted his head curiously, experimentally running a hand through his model’s hair. It was a familiar enough action that Yugi didn’t even shiver at the contact, despite cold fingers tousling his black and gold locks, despite the fact that he could see them now, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t just a gust of wind anymore…

Alright, _maybe_ a little.

“Eyes open,” Atem said.

Alright, _more_ than a little.

Yugi stared into his wine to have something else to focus on, the rim pressed against his bottom lip, and breathed out. His breath fogged up the sides of the glass, and the smell of the fruity red replaced what he’d just expelled. Carefully, as slowly as possible, he tilted the glass to drink.

Atem suddenly tugged at the collar of his shirt, and Yugi had to save his wine from being spat all over the couch as he pitched forward.

“Careful, you ass,” he warned, holding the back of his hand over his mouth.

Atem let go of his shirt to cross his arms. “I beg your pardon?”

Yugi wiped his mouth, putting his hand down to reveal the fakest frown on planet Earth, and repeated, “I said be _careful_ , you _ass_.”

The ghost only rolled his eyes. “You have the rest of the night to drink, have a modicum of patience.”

Out of pure spite, Yugi took another _long_ drink, maintaining hard eye contact the whole time. He took the glass from his lips with a smack and an exaggerated _ahh_ , raising his eyebrows as if to say _And what, exactly, do you think you’re going to do about it_?

Atem put up his hands in defeat. “As long as you can remember the _pose—_ ”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Yugi said, relaxing back into the pose he’d been positioned to. “See?”

“Almost.”

Before he could ask what he’d done wrong, a cold thumb swiped at the corner of his mouth, flicking away some remaining wine from his display, and curled around his chin to tilt him slightly up. Yugi completely froze. It had nothing to do with the chill.

“There,” Atem decided, taking his hand back. “Now you have it.”

He didn’t say a thing as the ghost returned to the other side of the coffee table to retrieve his art supplies. Didn’t move an inch as he saw a familiar cross of the legs, and a pen was uncapped, and a soft drag of ink on paper – almost silent due to the quality – reached his ears. He sat in a familiar still and silent way, as he hadn’t in a long time, and stared obediently in the direction he’d been asked.

Yugi wasn’t sure if Atem had asked him to stare forward on purpose, given that he was aware that Yugi was prone to staring, which was an embarrassing thought. But intentional or not, it revealed a few more things that he hadn’t noticed, forced to make semi-regular eye contact as the ghost’s eyes flicked between the page and his pose.

For example: breathing. Atem didn’t do that. It was pretty obvious, to be fair, but somehow he’d never picked up on it before. The lack of rise and fall in his chest, the complete and utter silence from his nose and mouth, the _absence_ of something that all living things did was unnerving. He wasn’t breathing. He just _wasn’t_ , and that felt so wrong. Almost disturbing.

It shocked Yugi into remembering something else obvious: Atem was dead. Had been, for a long time.

Even though this had been clear to him for three and a half months, it was a profound discovery. Profound enough that something tugged his chest down to his stomach. That is, until Atem told him to straighten up, and he brushed the disappointment out of his mind.

Disappointment? Is that what it was?

_Why?_

The wine was all too tempting in that moment, sitting just under his nose, a promise to help him forget about feelings he couldn’t explain. Or didn’t _want_ to explain.

“Drinking,” Yugi warned, and tipped the glass back, careful to keep the rest of his body still.

“As you wish,” the ghost mumbled, capping one pen and opening another.

He smiled over the rim of the glass as he brought it back down to its proper place. “Mm—And I do wish.” He swiped his tongue over his mouth to catch any remaining droplets. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

Atem only flicked his eyes up for a fraction of a second, but they widened noticeably before returning to the page. And stayed there. An unusual tension found itself in the ghost’s body, and even though he hadn’t been breathing in the first place, it looked as though he suddenly stopped.

Yugi almost asked him what was wrong, before he remembered that they had been keeping steady eye contact for several minutes, and he just— _Wow._ He almost pinched his eyes shut to hide himself from the shame.

But he was glad he didn’t, because a slight sparkle had overtaken the ghost’s bottom half, the transparent limbs becoming less and less… _there_. His feet had faded into nothing, his ankles on their way out.

“Uh, Atem?” Yugi asked, breaking his pose to be worried for a minute.

The ghost didn’t look up. “Yes?”

“Why are your legs disappearing?”

As he continued to be erased from the air, Atem moved the sketchbook out of the way and gasped, “Oh!” He brushed his hand down one leg and then the other, as if sweeping away the tiny glimmers of light. Slowly but surely, both legs grew back.

Yugi blinked. “You can do that?”

The ghost shrugged sheepishly. “I can.”

“Did you just run out of energy to keep your body going or…?”

“It was involuntary that time, but I am able to do it on purpose.”

“Really?”

Atem switched his pen to the hand holding the sketchbook, and snapped his fingers so loud they resonated through the whole house. In the same instant, he disappeared, art supplies floating aloft by themselves. Just like old times.

Yugi couldn’t help the smile crawling across his face. “Okay, that’s pretty awesome.”

“I am inclined to agree.”

The glimmering returned as Atem reappeared gradually into the world, his limbs melting out of nothing and into the world. His head appeared last, the mirage of the crown on his head glowing gold just as it had when he first got his body, before dimming and returning to normal. He twirled around in place, before returning to his “seat.”

“Are you sure you’re a ghost?” Yugi asked. “Because you’re looking more like a fairy right now.”

He snorted. “Have you _already_ had too much to drink?”

“I’m serious! With the sparkles and the spinning, all you need is a set of wings and you’re basically Egyptian Tinkerbell.”

Atem stared blankly. Oh yeah.

“It’s a movie,” Yugi explained, waving a hand through the air dismissively. He’d done this before. “I’ll put it on the list.”

The ghost lifted the sketchbook. “Would you like to continue?”

Yugi got resettled in his pose. “We’ll go as long as you want, because I am not getting this outfit on again without a good reason.”

The pen returned to the page in no time. “Helping a friend is not reason enough for you?”

“Maybe if you ask _really_ nicely.”

Atem rolled his eyes. “Shall I sing your praises as well, My Lord?”

Yugi sat up a little taller. “Ooh, I like that.”

The ghost opened his mouth, then closed it. He stopped drawing to squint in warning. “Do not.”

“‘Do not’ what?”

“Do whatever you are thinking of doing. Or saying.”

Not wanting to break the pose, he settled for pouting into his wine glass. “You’re no fun.”

He sighed, returning to sketching. “And _you_ are unmanageable.”

“You’ve managed me so far.”

“Only so far.”

“Better get used to me, Your _Majesty_.”

“Fear not. I shall prepare my defenses.”

Yugi scoffed. “What kind of an idiot leads a full front assault on a king? No, I’m laying a siege. Let you take yourself out. I’ll clean up when you’re just barely hanging on.”

Atem lifted his pen in indication. “Ah, but any good ruler has escape routes for just such a situation.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you when you use them.”

“How would you know where they exited?”

“I wouldn’t. I’d send one of my troops down the tunnels after you.”

“As if I wouldn’t have a personal guard to escort me. Very foolish of you, Yugi.”

“Who said I would be trying to catch you there? Intel is a powerful tool. And now that you’ve successfully abandoned your people, I can instate my own ruler because I’ve conquered your throne. Ha-ha.”

Atem laughed so hard he had to stop drawing, throwing his head back and moving his pen away from the page. Yugi couldn’t help laughing with him, though more than a little confused about what was so funny.

“What?” he asked. “What did I say?”

Despite not having any breath to catch, Atem still had to calm himself down from his fit, pressing a hand to his chest and blinking rapidly. “It—You are just _so_ sure that you have won. Delightful. Very charming.”

Yugi was halfway to a flustered _Thank you_ when the rest of the words processed in his brain and he did a complete one-eighty. He abandoned his pose completely, choosing to cross his arms and planted his lifted foot on the ground. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Atem twirled the pen between his fingers. “It means you are pleasant to b—”

“The _other_ part, Casanova.”

To his credit, the ghost was only momentarily embarrassed before explaining himself. “Er—right. You are so sure you have won, when in fact, any _smart_ ruler would have long been planning a flanked assault from a _different_ location. You did not truly believe my _only_ troops existed within my walls, did you?”

“Yeah. Well,” Yugi sputtered. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Well, fuck you. We’re playing _Battleship_.” He stood up with defiance and marched over to the bookshelf of games to pick the box out of the messy stack, Atem bursting into another fit of laughter behind him. Yugi couldn’t help but smile at the sound – boisterous and loud and _fun_.

He drained the rest of his wine. He was going to need it.

The slightly dented _Battleship_ box was retrieved at last, and Yugi helped himself to a second (maybe more than he should have) glass of Merlot as they set up their pieces. He was sitting on the floor, now, back pressed against the couch so he wouldn’t have to lean awkwardly over the game to move. Atem was across from him, also on the floor, and taking his time setting up his pieces.

“It really is remarkable,” the ghost said, apropos of nothing.

“What is?” he asked, readjusting a few of his placements.

“That you consistently challenge me to military strategy games, despite the fact that I am _trained_ in military strategy.”

“It’s been a century or two.”

“Yet I beat you every time.”

Yugi took a swig of his wine. “One day, you’ll slip up. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“You will be counting on it for quite a while.”

“Just put down your boats.”

He finished putting down his boats – eventually – and the game began. Every successful hit was a question asked for the attacker that must be answered truthfully on the side of the defender. It was an extra set of rules they applied to most of the games they played. Said games tended to drag on because of it, but neither of them minded an excuse to keep playing longer – sometimes a _lot_ longer.

And one and a half wine glasses later, they were _still_ playing. Though Yugi was having some trouble with that part.

“F7,” Atem said, calling his attack.

Head lolling to one side, Yugi picked up a red marker and dramatically flew it in to one of his boats. He made a comical explosion sound when it landed. “You got one,” he announced. “Ask me _anything_.” He spread his arms to their full length before giggling himself stupid.

The ghost looked somewhere between amused and afraid, as he had looked for the last ten minutes. “What is your mother like?”

Yugi gasped and threw a hand to his heart – thankfully the one that wasn’t holding a wine glass. “I love Momma. She’s the best. You would love her, she’s so nice and she always gets me candles.”

“Oh, is that where you get them?”

He nodded. “Yep! Momma gets me all kinds of candles, she knows I like ‘em. She’s the _best_.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She totally is. You should meet her!”

Atem blinked, taken aback. “Ah. No. I do not think that would be wise.”

Yugi blew a raspberry. “Why? That’s lame. Don’t be lame.”

“I am a _ghost_ , Yugi.”

“Annnnd?”

“ _And_ most people are not as inclined toward befriend wandering spirits as you.”

He took a large swig of his wine. “I think you’re bein’ a _pessimist_.”

“And I think _you_ have had too much to drink.”

Yugi leaned forward, hand cupped to his ear. “Uh, what’s that? Did I just hear someone being _lame_?”

“Just take your turn.”

“Fine.” He sat back against the couch and squinted at his game board. “B5.”

“You have already attacked that spot. And missed.”

“J10.”

The ghost moved a red marker to one of his boats. “Hit. Congratulations.”

“Oh! I get to ask a question!”

Atem gestured toward him with a smile. “Indeed you do. Ask away.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” He set down his glass to prop up his chin with both hands. “Who was your _first kiss_?”

Suddenly, all two hundred years of age were present in the ghost’s face. “Really?”

Yugi bounced excitedly in his seat instead of answering. This was the _best_ question ever.

He sighed. “Fine.” He looked like he was preparing himself for something, staring down at the game board and flexing his hands where they rested on the edge of the table. He spoke quietly when he answered, “His name was Ismat.”

Yugi’s mouth dropped open like he’d just heard the juiciest gossip of the decade. “Was he cute?”

Atem nodded, with a tiny laugh. “Yes, as far as I remember.”

“Tell me _mooore_.”

“Do you really need me to say anything else?”

He pressed the palms of his hands together. “Please? Pretty please? Pleeease?”

"Alright, alright. You are rather persistent."

The only answer he gave was to scoot as close to the edge of the table as possible and nod encouragingly. 

"Ismat," he began, intentionally poised, like he was trying to hold himself back, "worked in my family's stables—"

"You had a _stables?"_

"We had _two_ horses. Hardly a menagerie."

“I wish I had a stables…”

“You would rethink that if you knew how much work maintaining it would be. That is why my parents hired him – Ismat. He would come every day in the morning and leave every evening, for years. I hardly interacted with him, but I grew to think of him as a part of the house as any other part.” He gestured around the apartment. “Windows, doors, curtains, Ismat. He was always there.”

Yugi picked up his wine glass again, the bowl clinking as he tapped it with his fingernails. “Did you _like_ him?”

“As I said, we hardly interacted. I would greet him when he arrived and wish him well when he left, but that all we had. But—” he glared across the table when Yugi gasped, but it held no fire, “—obviously things changed. We were around the same age, so we… came into our own at around the time as well. I was fifteen when we finally had our first conversation.

“I went down to the stables to get away from my parents, as I _often_ did at that age, and Isamt was there. As he always was. He said hello and I—” he cut himself off with an embarrassed laugh. “Honestly, I did not _quite_ know how to speak to him. I almost turned ran back into the house, but stood my ground and greeted him back. He went back to work, and I made myself busy with my horse—”

“You had a _horse_?” Yugi interrupted, mouth hanging open.

Atem raised his brows. “Would you like me to _finish_ the story?”

Yugi zipped his lips shut obediently, pretending to lock them up and throw away the key. The ghost only shook his head.

“Anyhow. My horse, Hiba, was right next to me so I used her as a distraction of sorts. Petting her, talking to her, things of that sort. Ismat asked me how long my family had owned her. I didn’t remember, and I told him so. He only remarked that she was one of the most well-behaved horses he had ever seen. I asked him how many misbehaved horses he had seen, and he said, ‘too many.’ I found it much easier to talk to him after that.

“For a while, the stables were my little escape. I went there when I needed to be away from everything else, and Ismat seemed to enjoy my company, so I returned, almost every day. Sometimes more than once. We were very close.”

Yugi had one hand propping up his face, engrossed in the story as if he were reading the most interesting book in the world. His other hand held the wine glass, all but forgotten.

“Perhaps a month into this arrangement,” Atem continued, “I went down to the stables to find Ismat not working. Just sitting against one of the stalls. He called me over to sit with him, so I did. He was acting very strange that day, I remember. He was speaking low, glancing to see if anyone was coming, he was so _nervous_ when he was usually collected. Of course, it made _me_ nervous, as well, so I asked him why he was scared. And…” He frowned, sighing through his nose. “He asked me if I thought there was something _wrong_ with him. I told him, ‘no, of course not.’ He asked, ‘is there anything that would make you hate me?’ I said, ‘nothing.’” He passed a hand over his mouth, like something had touched it. “And I am positive you can guess the rest.”

“What happened after that?” Yugi asked, smiling hugely.

Atem’s expression grew sad and pained. “Nothing. One day, he stopped coming to the stables, and I never found out why.”

His smile faltered, heart sinking into the floor. “Oh.”

The ghost shook himself and shrugged. “Yes, well, that was an overlong answer. I believe it is my move, so—”

“If I was there,” he blurted, “I would have come back. To the horses. Stables.”

A tangible silence grew between them, Atem frozen in place and Yugi looking very earnestly across the table.

“Ah,” the ghost said weakly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” He polished off the rest of his wine in a single swallow.

Atem looked between Yugi and the Merlot bottle, noticeably less full. He picked it up by the neck and rose from his seat. “I think you have had quite enough of this.”

“What? No!” Yugi jumped up and grabbed the bottle in the same spot, gripping onto both the bottle and the cold hand he was holding it through.

“Let go,” Atem said.

“ _You_ let go,” he repeated.

“I am serious.”

“ _I’m_ serious.”

“Let go of it, Yugi.”

“ _Let_ _go_ of it, Yugi.”

The ghost narrowed his eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

“Are you _mocking_ me?”

“Stop that.”

“ _Stop_ that.”

Atem pursed his lips. Yugi squished his own together in an attempt to follow suit.

“Give me the bottle,” Atem ordered.

“Give _me_ the bottle,” Yugi parroted right back. His “serious” face wasn’t nearly as good as the ghost’s, but he did his best.

“Are you simply going to repeat everything I say?”

“Are _you_ going to repeat everything _I_ say?”

Atem sighed in frustration and it quickly turned into a scowl when he heard it repeated back at him. “Will you _stop_?”

“Will you _stop_?” Yugi gave up trying to look mad, now smiling impishly.

“I am quite the fool.”

“I am _quite_ the foo— Hey!”

“Ha!”

Atem took advantage of Yugi’s offense, snatching the bottle out of his hand and zipping up to the ceiling. Yugi jumped once before giving up and plopping down on the couch, face scrunched up in a pout.

“This is for your own good,” the ghost promised, flying away to the kitchen.

Yugi didn’t even bother responding, grumbling under his breath about _stupid ghost_. He picked up his empty wine glass, eyeing it to see if any small drops remained. He didn’t see any, but tipped the glass back anyway, sticking his tongue out like he was catching snowflakes.

A tiny _thunk_ on the table distracted him from his mission. Atem had returned, not with the wine bottle, but with a glass of water.

“Drink,” he said. “I will put the game away.”

Yugi picked up the water, trading it for the wine glass, but gasped at mention of the game. “Why?”

“It is late. And, as I understand it, you have a new job.”

He squinted over the rim of the glass. “I guess so.”

The ghost plucked their markers out of the boats and off the maps, sending him a patient smile. “I promise we will have many more games to play in the future.”

Begrudgingly, Yugi smiled and took a drink. “Yurb bluky yb brdy,” he tried to say. Through the water. For some reason.

Atem eyed him curiously. “I beg your pardon?”

He took the glass _away_ from his mouth, setting in back on the table, and repeated, “You’re lucky you’re so pretty. Or I would be _way_ mad right now.”

“I am sure you—” Atem started then paused, holding one of the gameboards to his chest. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you. But you… think of me that way?”

“ _Duh_ ,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Do I have _eyes_? You’re like—” instead of finishing his sentence, he put out both hands on either side of his face as if he were holding something round, and gawked at the empty space. An empty space that, coincidentally, was facing the direction Atem was floating.

He flinched, nearly dropping the board he was holding, and hurriedly cleaned up the rest of the game. “Ah, um. In that case, thank you. For saying so.”

“You’re welcome,” Yugi said, dropping his pose. Then he yawned, stretching up to the ceiling and flopping down on the couch. “Goodnight,” he mumbled.

“You are sleeping here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you not want to get changed?”

“Sleepy. Bedtime.”

Yugi couldn’t see Atem, on account of his eyes being closed, but he imagined a smile when he heard a sigh and, “Goodnight, Yugi.”

He drifted off to sleep, and dreamt of turning pages in old books, the clatter of cards falling onto the floor, and the taste of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) the daguerreotype was invented in 1835 and released worldwide in 1839! it was quickly replaced because it Totally Sucked, but for a good 20 years, it was all the rage. 
> 
> 2) “Hiba” means “gift” and “Ismat” means “purity” in Arabic
> 
> 3) oh no 😉 I wonder 😉 what significance 😉 that journal 😉 will have 😉 😉 😉 😉


	6. Copper on Your Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE GIGANTIC WARNING FOR VIOLENCE. as in, skip the second half of this chapter if you don’t like knives, blood, pain, or people enjoying death Way Too Much. plot happens in that section, so if you want a summarized version without all the gross stuff just let me know!

This journal was going to drive him out of his mind.

Yugi couldn’t help thinking about it. Couldn’t help it and _hated_ that he couldn’t help it. His dreams had been plagued with the stupid thing, leather-bound pages and letters swimming before his eyes, making complete sense in the dream but becoming nonsense when he woke up. 

Nonsense was a great way to describe this whole thing, to be fair. It wasn't like he was _eager_ to go back downstairs and happily flip open a journal that belonged to (and was possibly haunted by) the person who assassinated his roommate. As weird a sentence as that was.

Yet, he found himself distracted by it, letting it fill up his absentminded thoughts. At the same time that he told himself he wanted nothing to do with the journal, what was in it, who wrote it, or the potential second haunting, he had so many _questions_. Why did his landlord have that journal? Why wasn't there any evidence of Atem _existing_ outside of that journal? How did he get to Japan? Why _Japan_ at all? 

Obviously, he couldn't ask Atem any of those. For one, it would be talking to Atem about his assassination. He _hated_ that, and Yugi would like to _stay_ friends with him. For two, he would have to reveal his knowledge of the journal, something he was very reluctant to do. See reason one. For three… it scared him. 

This whole thing – ghosts, murder, strange dreams, all of it. He was terrified of admitting it was all _real_ sometimes. That he lived with a ghost. That said ghost was probably looking for revenge on his murderer, or the next best thing. That there was a journal with a ninety percent chance to contain a _second_ ghost, this one being the aforementioned _murderer_. It was all so crazy and stupid and unbelievable. But it was his _life_ , somehow.

"Yugi, you have been sweeping that same spot for six minutes."

He jerked out of his thoughts, and clutched the broom to his chest. "Huh? What?"

"Feel free to keep going," Atem said, lightly to his left. He was in his Artist Position, as Yugi had come to call it, and he waved his sketchbook around with a smirk. "Humanity is art in motion. Or perhaps lack of motion, in your case."

Yugi turned up his nose, and _actually_ swept the floor this time. "This is why I don't listen to your playlist when I'm doing chores." He gestured to the dinner table, where his phone was propped up and playing soft piano music through a speaker.

"And why is that?"

"I fall _asleep_."

The ghost scoffed and flipped over onto his back like a lazy cat, head dangling freely, sketchbook open across his stomach. “You daydream regardless of the music playing.”

He moved to another part of the room and Atem followed, still floating upside down. “At least my regular chores playlist is exciting.”

“You mean _loud_.”

“Yeah, my _loud_ chores playlist is exciting.”

Atem made a face like he was sick. “I can no longer be ill, but your music brings me close.”

Yugi held up two fingers. “Two words. Drama.” He put down one finger. “Queen.” He put down the other.

“I _can_ be quite dramatic. But I assure you, I am being completely honest when I speak of your preferred _noise_.”

“Come on, it’s called rock. And you can’t possibly hate _all_ of it.”

“No, not hate. I prefer to say it pains me.”

He put up his fingers again and waggled them in the ghost’s face. “Do I have to say it again?”

Atem pawed his hand out of the air, the cat comparison now even more apt. “Oh, please do. I believe I misheard it for the seventieth time.”

“There has to be _a_ song you like.”

He pretended to think, scrunching up his face and stroking his chin, the act only made more comical by his refusal to sit upright. “You might have to give me several hours.”

Yugi would have smacked him with the broom if he didn’t know how Atem felt about things phasing through his body. “You’re hilarious.”

“Perhaps several _days_.”

“All I’m asking is _one_. _One_ song.”

He grumbled and rolled his eyes. “There was _one_ song I found myself involuntarily enjoying. About a ghost town?”

Anything Yugi had been thinking about relating to his fear of ghosts was ejected from his brain at once. “‘Ghost Town’ by Cheap Trick? You _unironically_ like _Cheap Trick?”_

“One song!” Atem reminded him, holding up a finger. “Just the one.”

“Oh my God, I am putting it on right now.”

Keeping his promise, Yugi dragged the broom back across the room to his phone, careful not to mess up the neat piles of dirt he created on the way. He cut off the piano music as fast as he fingers would let him and hurriedly opened the complete discography of Cheap Trick he had saved. What could he say? He liked classics – just not classi _cal_.

When the song started, it was like coming home. Home to a language he couldn’t speak and could barely understand, but music was its own language. And he spoke that one just fine.

“I can see why you like this one,” he said, already swaying to the smooth beat of the drums. “It’s more your style.”

“Slower?” Atem guessed. “Quieter? Easier on the ears?”

“It has the word ‘ghost’ in it.”

He scoffed. “Of course.”

Yugi stopped talking in favor of half-singing along to the words he could pronounce, swinging the end of his broom around like a microphone. He couldn’t hit a lot of the notes, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anybody. Plus, made cleaning up around the house a lot more enjoyable.

He was only momentarily shocked out of his jamming by Atem, who was honest-to-God _whistling_ along with the tune. He had hands tucked behind his head to hold it up, one of his feet keeping time. He saw Yugi’s baffled expression and stopped.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Nothing,” Yugi said, turning around on his heel innocently.

The ghost didn’t look convinced in the slightest. He stopped whistling, instead choosing to hum under his breath.

“ _It’s like a ghost tooown_ ,” Yugi sang, a little louder than he had been, peeking out of the corner of his eye, “ _without your love_.”

“Do you even know what it means?”

“Kind of. I took English in school, but it’s mostly gone now. I get the basic gist.”

“Hmm.”

“ _Like a ghost tooown_ ,” he sang again, tossing the handle of the broom to his other hand theatrically. “ _Baby, can’t you see_? _It’s a ghost tooown_.” He spun around in place and struck a pose. “ _Until you come back to me_.”

“Bravo.”

Yugi looked up, half-laughing and half-continuing the song. Atem was floating on his side now, looking on with an amused smile.

“ _There's only lonely days and empty nights_ ,” he continued, putting a bit more flare into his performance now that he had an audience. “ _Ain't the same without you, baby, nothin' feelin' right._ ” He couldn’t resist taking a lunge forward, taking the broom with him as he hit the high point in the verse. “ _Nothing's feeling right!_ ”

The ghost laughed and rolled over onto his back again. “And you call _me_ dramatic.”

“I’m just getting into the song. I’m letting the music _move_ me.”

“I can see that.”

“Look me in the eye and say you aren’t having fun.”

Atem turned his head to the side, mouth open in preparation to declare his lack of fun, only to be interrupted by the chorus.

“ _Like a ghost tooown_ ,” Yugi repeated, sliding toward him, not even bothering to sweep the floor in a way that was useful, “ _without your love_.”

He rolled his eyes and looked back to the ceiling, but he was _definitely_ smiling.

Yugi stepped forward again, getting as close as he could to Atem’s face without being inside it. “ _Like a ghost tooown_. _Baby, can’t you see_? _It’s a ghost tooown_.”

“Get away,” the ghost ordered, playfully pushing his face away.

Yugi relented, backing up just slightly. “This song is practically made for you.”

“Is it, now?”

“You already said you like it. _And_ it’s about ghosts. Metaphorical ghosts.”

“I might change my mind after this.”

He paused, then sighed. “Atem?”

“Yugi?”

“ _I wanna leave this town_.” He had to sing through his laughter as Atem buried the palms of his hands into his eyes and groaned. “ _Don't wanna be around. I'm gonna leave this town._ ”

“And why ever would that be?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked, because—”

“ _It's like a ghost town!”_

The guitar solo played out in silence for a good three seconds while Yugi _stared_ at Atem with a triumphant smile – they had sung the verse at the same time.

“Gotcha,” he said.

“You do not ‘have’ anything,” Atem insisted.

“You have to sing the rest of it now.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“You know you want to.”

“I think _I_ know more about what I want than you.”

Yugi leaned in close as the chorus started back up. “ _It’s like a ghost tooown_ , _without your love_.”

Atem turned his face away. “Stop that.”

He only circled around to the other side, holding out the broom handle to share the “mic.” “ _Like a ghost tooown without your love._ _Like a ghost tooown—_ ”

“ _Baby, can’t you see!_ _It’s a ghost tooown_.”

Yugi could have cheered when the ghost finally relented, taking hold of their pretend microphone, but he only sung the next line. “ _A ghost tooown, until you come back to me.”_

“ _Ooh, until you come back to me_.”

“ _It's like a ghost town._ ”

“ _It's a ghost tooown_.”

The rest of the song faded out into silence, leaving the two of them laughing and smiling, Yugi trying to catch his breath. Those high notes didn’t hit themselves, after all.

“Oh man, I wish I would have filmed that,” he lamented.

“I would have broken your phone in half,” Atem promised, but there was no bluster to his threat.

“It’s not like I’d show anyone.”

“But the evidence that it existed would have been reason enough to destroy it.”

Yugi pushed off the broom, reluctantly returning to his chores. “You have a good voice, though.”

“Flattery will not change my mind in this hypothetical situation.”

“Now that I know you can sing, it might not be a hypothetical for long.”

Atem jabbed an accusatory finger at him. “You would not dare.”

He pressed a finger to his cheek. “Ooh, but I _would_ , though.”

“Not while I live.”

“It’s good thing you don’t, then!”

The ghost cursed as soon as that particular fact was pointed out. Yugi positively _cackled_ , even going so far as to rub his hands together like a mad scientist, the broom tucked into the crook of his arm.

“Now nothing can stop me,” he declared.

“Have your fun. One day, I shall have my revenge.”

“Get in line, buddy. Jou is still scheming from a picture I took of him three years ago.”

“I am a patient man. I have the rest of eternity, after all.”

He tossed a look over his shoulder. “And I’ll be long dead by then.”

Atem smiled. “Even better.”

“Are you _happy_ about my eventual death?”

“Not at all. But it does mean I will have a _second_ eternity to chase you down.”

Yugi flipped his hair as he turned around again, mostly to avoid eye contact. That sentence had implications that he knew weren’t there, but he couldn’t stop his brain from thinking of anyway. He got busy sweeping the floor, collecting together all the dirt piles he ruined during their impromptu duet.

His phone played more Cheap Trick on autoplay, much to Atem’s chagrin. Yugi didn’t bother switching playlists again, joking that if he liked “Ghost Town,” there had to be _something_ else that he’d enjoy by them. The ghost was doubtful, but put up with the, “excruciating music,” for the rest of the time it took for the floor to get swept up at least.

“I should probably take out the trash, too,” Yugi said, dumping the dustpan out into the trashcan. “Ugh.”

“It is not _that_ full,” Atem commented, pulling up behind him.

“Yeah, but if I don’t do it now, I probably won’t get it done before the end of the week. And by then, it’ll be overflowing.”

They looked at each other with matching expressions of disgust.

“I don’t want to,” Yugi complained. “You do it.”

He blinked. “I cannot even get down the stairs.”

“You can chuck it.”

“All the way to the _street_?”

“Use some ghost magic, I don’t know.”

Atem put a hand on his shoulder. “Just take the trash out.”

“Fine.”

He pouted all the way through the task of gathering up all the trash and recycling in the house. Even _afterword_ , lugging the bags down the creaky stairs as carelessly as possible, he grumbled about how terrible the chore was.

About halfway down, his arm was suddenly tugged backward. He made a strangled yelping sound as he found himself tumbling backward, landing on one of the steps hard. It took only a confused moment for him to recover.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, tugging the bags.

The recycling, smaller of the two, followed his movement. The larger trash bag jostled, but didn’t move from where it sat. Yugi stood and lifted them both straight up, and saw the trash bag was caught on a loose nail, upturned with its point sticking sharply into the sky.

 _I’m going to have to fix that_ , he decided. The entire _staircase_ could use a fix, but that was a job for another day. And probably for someone more qualified.

He untangled the trash back from the nail – by some small miracle, it hadn’t ripped the bag open and made this whole thing a million times harder – and continued his unwitting journey to the street. He tossed the bags in their respective bins, and trudged _all the way_ back. Taking out the trash was the worst, because it was completely gross and way too short a job to be worth all the grossness. Nearly any other chore was better.

Yugi climbed the stairs, minding the nail as he went, but froze when the hand on the railing passed through something cold.

It tried to crawl up his arm, but he slapped it away, hiking up the stairs two at a time now. It retaliated by pulling on the back of his shirt and he _lurched_ backward, just barely grabbing the railing in time to catch himself. The cold wrapped around his wrist and tugged him down, but only took him one step before he snatched his hand back. Now he was _positive_ there was a second spirit. And he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

“Go the fuck away,” he hissed, hoping Atem wouldn’t hear from inside. He wafted the air like he was shooing a bug.

Whatever – or _who_ ever – this thing was, it wasn’t in the mood to talk. It pulled on _both_ his hands this time, and he tugged back with all his might. He landed with an _oof_ on the stairs when the spirit suddenly let go. He jabbed a finger at where he hoped it still was.

“I don’t care about you,” he hissed again. “Leave me alone.” He stood up and brushed himself off, and added, “Leave me _and_ Atem alone.”

Yugi had only just turned around when the spirit jerked his head back and covered his mouth, freezing cold.

“Do not speak to me,” said a voice at his ear, horrifyingly familiar, “of that man.”

His head was released, his mouth was uncovered, and Yugi _bolted_ for the door, scrambling for the handle. When he finally got it open, he ducked inside and slammed it shut behind him. His eyes were blown wide with panic, his heart was in his throat. He stared at the crack in the closed door as if it would suddenly burst open. That spirit – the voice from his dream – _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the_ fuck—

Atem was quickly next to him, worry hanging off everything he said. “What happened? Yugi, why are you shaking?”

Hardly thinking, Yugi threw his arms around the ghost he was familiar with, almost hugging _through_ him before he stopped himself. He had to stand on his toes to reach where the ghost floated above him, but he didn’t care, already burying his face in the transparent shoulder. Cold arms wrapped around him just as fast, if significantly more confused.

“What on Earth is going on?” Atem asked. He sounded like he was talking to himself.

“I got scared,” Yugi blurted. “Something outside.” It wasn’t _completely_ a lie.

 “Scared? What was it?”

Oh no. Now he had to come up with something. “A… guy.”

“A guy?”

“He was shifty looking. He started walking at me, so I panicked and ran back inside. He’s probably gone now though.” He peeled himself off of Atem, but the ghost’s arms lingered where he’d set them.

He was looking at the door now, threats laced in his eyes. “If he hurt you—”

“No!”

Again, hardly thinking, Yugi grabbed Atem by the face and forced him to look ahead again. The ghost flinched back in surprise, and he let go instantly.

“Sorry! Sorry, he didn’t. Hurt me. I just don’t think—” he glanced at the door. “If he’s still out there, it’s probably better to ignore him.” _I hope_. “We can scare him off if he tries something.” _I hope_.

Atem didn’t look convinced, but there was a lingering shock in his expression that probably pulled him back down from whatever he’d been about to do. “If you are sure.”

 _I have never been less sure of anything in my life_. “Yep. Super sure.”

The ghost dropped his arms from where they’d been resting protectively and then they were just standing at the door. Not doing anything,

Yugi turned on his heel and marched to the kitchen. “I’m going to start dinner,” he announced.

Atem stared after him, confused. “It is only five thirty.”

“Early dinner. I have work in the morning.”

 _And hopefully_ , he added to himself, _nothing else_.

 

 

When he was a teenager, Yugi learned how to break into a house.

It wasn’t for himself – it was for Jou. His best friend’s home life had been the worst he’d ever seen, and it, understandably, got too much for him to handle sometimes. When Jou needed an escape from his father, Yugi was there in five minutes tops, ready to dismantle his bedroom window with nothing but a screwdriver and a little bit of elbow grease. He knew how to unlock latches, sliders, pivot locks, and even take off the glass panes entirely, replacing them without a scratch. Jou’s dad tried a lot of things to keep his son in the house, but together, they thwarted them all. Jou got the hell out of that place the minute he saved up enough cash, and Yugi was happy to never have to break into another house again.

Yet now, eight years later, he was considering doing just that.

Yugi scrounged through his hall closet in the dark, searching for the toolbox he kept in case of emergencies, and thought about the implications of the phrase “breaking in.” Nobody lived there. It wasn’t _really_ a house. He wasn’t going to steal anything. Just a quick in-out-done. That was all.

Finally, the bright red toolbox was in sight. He pulled it out and sat on the floor with it, clicking open the sides. He squinted as he sorted through the messy contents to try and find a flathead. The screwdriver had to be a flathead so it could remove any beading to get the pane loose and jimmy it off. From there, he could either reach in and unlock the window or take off the glass entirely.

He sighed. This was _so_ illegal.

 _Illegal_ , he reasoned, _but not entirely unnecessary_.

He finally found the flathead screwdriver, inspecting it, running his hands over the head. It wasn’t damaged, which was good. No chance of it getting caught on the beading or accidentally scratching the glass. He thought about pulling on his gloves to prevent fingerprints, just in case someone got suspicious.

He cringed. This whole idea was… kind of self-defense? In a way?

Oh, who was he kidding? He just had to pray nobody was around tonight.

He snapped the toolbox closed and shoved it back into the closet, tucking the screwdriver into the waistband of his pajamas. He took a breath. This wasn’t a big deal. In. Out. Done. Piece of cake. He’d taken care of Jou’s window in a record thirty seconds once he got good at it. This wouldn’t even be a challenge. Probably.

He turned down the dark hall and strode with falsified confidence, on the off chance it would turn into _real_ confidence on the way out. Step one was the easiest part, after all. He just had to leave the house, hopefully sneaking past—

“Yugi?”

“Atem!” He whirled around, plastering a big innocent smile on his face, hands tucked behind his back.

The ghost lied on the back of the couch, sprawled across the thin section of cushion with his limbs hanging limply over the sides. Or he _had_ been, until he saw Yugi come down the hall, now sitting up and alert.

Step one was proving to be more difficult than anticipated.

“What are you doing?” Atem asked.

Yugi’s nerves were telling him to bolt, but that would just make him even more suspicious. “Oh, you know,” he said, scuffing the floor. “Just. Going on a walk. For a bit.” _That was awful._

Atem glanced at the time on the wall clock, then furrowed his brows. “It is nearly midnight.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. He’d been tossing and turning at least an hour.

“Are you sure this is wise?”

 _Not at all_. “I’ll be fine.”

“What about that man this past weekend? Are you sure you will be safe?”

It took a few seconds for Yugi to remember what Atem was talking about – his lie. “Oh, that? Nah, I think that was just a one-time thing. I won’t go far, I promise.”

Nope. He wasn’t going to go far at _all_.

The ghost didn’t look convinced, but Yugi was inching for the door already. He huffed in defeat. “Alright. Be careful.”

Yugi waved awkwardly as he slipped on his shoes backed out of the house, _really, really_ hoping that the screwdriver wasn’t visible.

And then he was outside, on a moonless summer night. Facing the stairs. He took another breath, not bothering to lock the door. Atem would take care of it.

Besides, he wasn’t even going past the driveway.

Taking the stairs down on tip-toe, Yugi turned on his heel once he got to the bottom, doubling back under them to approach the first level of the building. He tried the door handle. Locked, as expected. Good.

He casually made his way to the back of the building, where he knew there was a window that was hard to see unless you were looking for it. Most of this building was hard to see in the dark, but better to be safe than sorry.

The window in question was small, just small enough for him to squeeze through, shoved against the corner of the building, the creaking wood almost squishing it. It was foggy from dust and dirt, but whether it was worse on the inside or the outside was impossible to tell. Yugi retrieved the screwdriver and flipped it once in his hand.

Showtime.

He felt around the edge of the window, looking for a place to get through the beading safely. From what he could tell, the window didn’t have a lock on it, which meant he was going to have to remove the glass. Easy enough.

The flathead slipped into the small gap between pane and beading and he prayed it was new enough not to completely disintegrate when he removed the glass. The beading coming loose was one thing – the house was old, and things fell apart all the time. But the beading being completely broken was going to raise more than one red flag.

Yugi couldn’t help glancing anxiously over his shoulder as he worked the screwdriver around the sides of the window, hardly breathing. He didn’t see anybody. More importantly, he didn’t _feel_ anybody. Even still, he didn’t – _couldn’t_ – let himself relax. Not yet.

The pane came loose with the beading. With a practiced hand, he slipped it out of the frame, pulling the bottom with the flathead and bracing the top of the pane with his hand. It popped out easily, and he dropped the screwdriver as soon as he felt the pressure release, guiding the glass into his arms as he slid it out of the mounting. Once it was all the way out, he hefted the pane in his arms and set it to the side against the wall. His fingers cleaned away some of the dirt and dust and he _really_ wished he would have worn gloves. He picked up the screwdriver and slid it back into his waistband.

The interior of the storage space loomed before him, somehow darker than the moonless midnight hour he stood in, like a room made of oily pitch and what you see when you close your eyes. Shapes barely illuminated by the stars pressed against the darkness, begging to be seen.

Yugi stood a slow shuddering breath, bracing the empty window frame and pulling himself through to the other side of that darkness. His feet touched down on the creaky wooden floor and he had barely taken two steps before he stood right in front of everything that had been driving him out of his mind lately:

The journal.

It sat innocently on the desk, just as he’d left it. Fukuyama obviously didn’t like this thing any more than he did if he let it sit out, untied, after he found his tenant rifling through it. Yugi wondered if he even noticed that Atem’s daguerreotype was missing.

He blinked. He was reaching for the journal, but he hadn’t even noticed.

Yugi slammed his hands on the desk and growled, “Okay, asshole. No more games. What the hell do you want?”

Nothing.

“Don’t be coy with me. I know you’re there and I know _exactly_ who you are.”

“You know nothing of me.” The voice was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, impossible to pinpoint a direction.

Yugi smirked. Taunting always worked. “I know you’re a murderer. And I know you have it out for my friend.”

“Al Sadat does not keep friends.”

He tilted his head in thought. “Maybe he just didn’t like you. I don’t blame him, honestly. The whole ‘being assassinated’ thing would put me off about you too. You two should probably talk it out.”

“I have no desire to hold council with him.”

“What do you want, then? And what does _any_ of this shit have to do with me?”

The journal flung open of its own accord, pages flipping wildly as if being tossed by a gale, all the way to the very last entry. Yugi stared down at it. It was dated 1878, but when he tried to read farther than that, he found he couldn’t understand a word.

But that might not have been the fault of the language, because the page was soaked in the stain of century-old blood.

Before he could say anything, a cold hand on the back of his neck forced him down, nose to nose with the gore-matted page. Even after decades of abandonment, he could somehow still smell it as clearly as if it were fresh. He gagged on the coppery stench, trying to force himself back up. The hand held him firm. A second grabbed his wrist, peeling his palm off the wooden desk.

Yugi struggled against the invisible force, panic rising in his throat, but it felt like someone had stacked a ton of bricks on his back. He felt heavy, _so_ heavy. It was impossible to move.

His hand raised off the face of the desk. It inched toward the book. He wasn’t moving it.

“I’ll scream,” he said, but his voice shook.

“No one will hear you.”

The cold evaporated into his skin and his whole body jerked straight up. His hand slammed on the bloody journal page, and he felt his lips lift in a smile that wasn’t his.

“Now,” his mouth said, in a voice that didn’t belong to him, “I think it will be easier if I show you.”

Yugi blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was somebody else.

 

 

He was bent over his journal – not even bothering to use the chair – a fountain pen in one shaking hand, scribbling down words so fast they were hardly legible. Words about what he’d seen. Words about what he’d heard. Words about the spirit he was sure followed his every step.

His breath was coming in pants, his brow was damp with cold sweat, his head was pounding, the rush of blood in his ears was close to maddening. But he kept writing. He had to get it all down. To make sure someone _knew._ To prove to himself he wasn't crazy. At the same time, he hoped he was. That this was all a dream, a series of hallucinations from a deteriorating mind.

"My, my. What a horrible mess you have become, Hazim."

He froze in place. He knew that voice behind him, once aloof with self-importance, now venomous and cutting like steel. It was a voice he silenced thirty years ago. 

"Trust your ears, _Mushir_. They do not deceive you."

Slowly, Hazim turned, gripping his pen so tightly that his knuckles went pale on his dark skin. Hatred and fear in the form of bile rose in his throat.

Atem looked just the same as the night he died, but there were distinct differences. He was see-through, tinged gray and pale. The wound across his throat, the killing blow, bled as fresh as the moment it was cut, the red flowing down his collar and staining his bedclothes. He floated in the air, suspended by nothing at all, tilted as if resting in a hammock, one arm thrown across his waist. And he was flipping a wicked knife in his left hand, catching it methodically by the handle and tossing it in the air again.

"Al Sadat," Hazim whispered, angry, afraid, and awed.

"Ah," said the dead regent, eyes trained on the metal of the blade as it rose and fell, glinting maliciously in the dim light. "So, you _do_ remember me. I would be quite offended if you had forgotten. Although—" he looked sharply up, his eyes flashing gold, "—as you can imagine, I am not in the best of spirits regardless."

"Why are you here?" Hazim demanded. Even to his own ears, it sounded weak. "What do you want?"

Atem laughed darkly and madly, tossing his head back and catching the knife to hold for good. "What do I _want_ , Hazim? What do _I want_?" The laughter stopped abruptly. His hand clenched around the handle. "I want you to die."

With barely a flick of his wrist, the knife shot across the room and buried itself hilt-deep in Hazim's side, piercing through his stomach and poking out through his back, sticky, hot blood trickling down his side. He screamed like crazed beast, vision going white and red and black all at once. It was fire in his body, and all he could do was hold his weight up on the desk and warble incoherently in agony.

"Oh dear," Atem tutted. "I do apologize, _Mushir_ , I always was a terrible shot." In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Hazim and smiling with vicious intentions. His grayish hand grasped the hilt of the blade. "I would like this back, if it is all the same to you."

Hazim wheezed, "Bastard."

The knife _twisted_ and he wailed, sharp, ripping waves of anguish tearing through him again. His body screamed in protest, convulsing and shaking and sweating. 

"Do not play games with me," Atem warned. "Thirty years dead has not made me any kinder to you." His eyes flashed gold again, living fire swirling beneath his irises.

"If you want to kill me," Hazim panted, "do it. I have nothing else to lose."

The knife tore out harshly, the wound oozing blood down his hips, legs, back, dripping onto his feet. His bile rose again, dizzy and sick with pain. The laceration throbbed and stung with the intensity of a hundred more knives, and he would have collapsed if not for the transparent arm holding him by the front of his shirt.

"You think too simply," Atem said, hushed. "I want you to die so you can tell me what it _feels_ like." 

He lifted the blade, dripping with gore, and trailed the very tip up Hazim's neck. 

"What it is like to know your life is slipping away." 

The point stopped where his chin met his throat. 

"To feel it rush through your hands like countless grains of sand." 

Atem looked deep into his eyes, smiling at whatever it was he saw.

"I was hoping you might be able to explain it to me. Seeing as I died in my sleep."

Hazim lifted his head in a feeble attempt to escape the blade at his throat. "You remain as insufferable as ever." 

He spat a globule of spit and blood that passed right through Atem's head. He frowned and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Is that really all you can muster?" he asked. "Truly?" He took the knife away, still holding Hazim by the shirt. "You have lost your touch, _Mushir_."

He flipped the blade in his hand, inspecting a droplet as it slid down the length of the metal. “It really is a shame that your wife is absent from this event. Your son, too.”

Hazim stiffened in the spirit’s firm grip. “You wouldn’t—”

Atem’s eyes snapped back. “I would. Believe me, I would. But I will not. This is between me—” he pointed the blade at himself “—and you.” He pointed the blade at Hazim, then pushed it forward a little more, cutting into the skin in dip of his collarbone. He nearly bit off his own tongue to keep from crying out again. It stung and throbbed and bled.

The spirit could see his struggle plainly, and only smirked before flicking the knife up to free it from the flesh. “Humanity truly is art in motion.”

Atem dropped the front of Hazim’s shirt, and he collapsed to the floor in an instant into a pool of his own blood. The wound in his side was still bleeding, but the pain had momentarily lessened as his mind grew hazy and his breath became labored.

"None of that, now," Atem chastised. 

The spirit hauled him up by the back of his neck like a mother cat, forcing him to face the desk and lean all his weight on it. He stared down the open spine of his journal, blurry at the edges. It disappeared as a ghostly hand lifted into the air.

"Oh, what _have_ we here?" he mused.

"Don't--" Hazim choked.

"Be quiet."

The knife slammed into the table, blade first into the back of Hazim's left hand. His next scream left his throat raw and choking, fingers curling in the throes of his pain. 

"'Property of _Mushir_ Sa'adeddin Hazim,'" Atem read aloud, then hummed curiously. "I still have no idea why you chose the military life." 

Hazim's hand was released as the blade disappeared, grunting in pain. It was a short-lived escape, however, as the next place the cold steel found was buried underneath his ribs. He had no energy left to cry out as the fire of torment ripped through him. His limbs were growing cold, the slick blood under his left hand dripping off the desk and onto the floor. The journal plopped back down on the desk, back open to the page he had been writing on before. 

"You would have made a fantastic executioner," the ghost continued. "Why, I felt nothing when you killed me!"

He yanked the blade out again and held the dripping metal, blood splattering on the journal pages as he flourished the knife under Hazim’s nose.

"Unfortunately, I am not as skilled as you are when it comes to killing. I like to take my time."

Hazim didn't respond. _Couldn't_ respond. Words had fled his mind long ago, replaced with pain and blood and a bone-chilling cold.

It was with near-erotic excitement that Atem pressed his dead face up to his ear and purred, "Are you dying, Hazim? Can you feel your heart slow? Your life trickling away on the end of my blade?"

He jerked Hazim’s head back by the hair, holding the blade against his throat. It started to glow gold and hot of its own accord. If Hazim could have turned around, he would have seen the ghost's eyes were burning with the same color.

"With your last breath, I curse you Sa'adeddin Hazim. If I cannot rest in my grave, neither shall you. If I cannot pass into the beyond, neither shall you. As long as I am restless, so you shall be. Until I find peace, you will never know the tranquility of death. And _oh_ , Hazim." Atem broke himself off to laugh, that same dark laugh as before, full of death and blood and promises. "I will not find peace for a very _, very_ long time."

The blade pressed deeper and sliced open his neck, spraying blood across the desk and journal, coating the glowing knife with another layer of blood from its sacrifice. 

The world was dark. 

 

 

And Yugi woke up.

The first thing he did was throw the journal at the nearest wall and then _bolted_ for the window he’d opened to lean out of it and vomit profusely onto the ground. His whole body ached, everywhere that knife had stuck in _burned_ with an otherworldly pain, and he _suffered_ – he _suffered_ in that vision and continued to suffer and he was crying as he retched up his stomach and—

“Now do you _see_?”

It was Hazim – the _ghost_ of Hazim – and his hand travelled up Yugi’s spine.

Yugi whirled around, sweeping his hand through the air, not even bothering to wipe his mouth when he spat, “Get _away_ from me.”

“He is not what you _think_ —”

“Shut up, stop it, shut the _fuck_ up.” Hot tears were brimming in the corners of his eyes. He dragged his hands through his hair. His head was spinning and hazy and everything hurt, _everything_ hurt.

He felt another imploring touch at his arm and smacked it away. “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t—Just leave me _alone_!”

“You have to rid yourself of him.”

Yugi would have laughed hysterically if he wasn’t so busy panicking. “Stop it. Go away. I don’t trust you.”

“You trust _him_?”

Leave. He had to leave. He had to get out of here, he _had to get out of here_.

Yugi turned back to the window and climbed through it, jumping over his pile of vomit and stumbled as far as his legs would carry him in the opposite direction of the house until he collapsed to the ground on his knees. Hazim didn’t say anything or follow. Maybe he couldn’t. Yugi couldn’t care less.

He covered his mouth, still slick and tasting of bile, with the back of his hand and broke down.

If anyone heard him, he didn’t care or notice. He sobbed openly and fully, the sting of the wounds he never really had still fading from his body, his neck especially burning like it was on fire. The killing blow.

That knowledge just sent a fresh wave of hysterics to the front of his mind. Atem had _murdered_ somebody. Slowly. Painfully. And he’d _enjoyed_ it. He felt sick again. He wrapped his arm around his stomach, as if that would prevent another round of heaving.

Yugi had no idea how long he was out there, crying into his hands and gagging on his own memories, waiting for the pain to stop, but it was long enough that he knew he would have to get back to the house soon. Back home.

Back to Atem.

Hazim’s words wormed their way into his mind, as much as he hated to admit it.

 _You trust_ him _?_

And Yugi realized… No. Not as much as he thought he did. Not anymore.

He knew Atem liked strategy games. He knew Atem was an artist. He knew Atem liked one song by Cheap Trick and his favorite color was red and he gave good fashion advice. But he didn’t know _about_ Atem.

He didn’t know _anything_ that wasn’t superficial. All he knew was that he’d been assassinated at some point after ruling over Ottoman Egypt for an undetermined amount of time. Most of what he learned about his assassination he’d discovered by _accident_ , and he’d learned it from the murderer. How Atem had gotten to Japan was a mystery to him. The crown still hadn’t been explained. The fact that Atem could apparently put _curses_ on people was something he’d just learned. Again, from the _murderer_.

Yugi didn’t want anything to do with Hazim. But the only thing that Atem had done differently was play a game of cards and promise not to hurt him if he played nice.

And now he wasn’t even sure if he could trust _that_.

How was he supposed to look Atem in the eye? How was he supposed to _live_ with him after this?

He was going to have to confront him about it. He had to. No more secrets. No more hiding things. He had to get Atem to spill _everything_. Tonight.

The various pains from Yugi’s phantom wounds had faded to minor aches now – all except the neck, which still stung painfully. The rest were hardly noticeable unless he thought about it. Unfortunately, he was thinking about it. It was all he _could_ think about.

He stood up anyway, getting shakily to his feet and wobbling back to the apartment. He barely glanced at the windowpane, still resting against the back wall on the first level. He could barely stand, much less replace a window without breaking it. He’d do it in the morning.

Yugi stopped at the bottom of the staircase. It looked a hundred miles tall.

He took a breath and pushed himself up the first step. It creaked under his weight.

The second step was the same.

And the third.

As he climbed, Yugi reminded himself what he was going to do as soon as he got in there. He was going to sit down on the couch, come clean about the journal, and demand that Atem explain everything. For _both_ of their sakes.

Then he opened the door, and _nothing_ went according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) me while writing the flashback scene: damn atem wtf why are you so fucked up rn???  
> me: oh shit. wait. my bad, that’s on me actually
> 
> 2) while researching for this fic, i found out that cheap trick is basically the beatles in japan, which is fuckin crazy. i mean i like em too but wow 
> 
> 2.5) *scrolling through cheap trick's entire discography* “i want you to want me”??? too easy. too predictable. i have to make ghost references instead,,,
> 
> 3) “Mushir” is the equivalent of the rank “Field Marshal” both in the Ottoman Empire, in present day Egypt, and a lot of the Middle East and Northern Africa!


	7. Broken, Bent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone is REQUIRED to go check out the amazing fanart this fic got by wmolecules on tumblr: https://bit.ly/2Gs8Vq7 
> 
> another warning for people who are averse to pain, blood, and broken bones! there’s not any man vs man violence, but there is man vs nature violence. man vs accident prone violence. it’s only for a single non-plot-relevant section, so stop when you see “Yugi’s eyes flashed open…” and pick back up at “For the third time…” to read the rest of the story!

“What _happened_?”

Apparently, he looked worse that he thought, but that wasn’t really a surprise. As Yugi closed the front door behind him, he staggered, head still swimming from pain and shock and snot from his crying session. His mouth still tasted awful. His neck “wound” still hurt. But he tried a smile anyway.

“My walk,” he said, and his voice croaked, “got a bit complicated.”

Atem’s worried look only grew horrified from where he had rushed up to greet Yugi at the door, for once standing upright. He looked Yugi up and down, at the dirty stains on his legs, at the rumpled state of his clothes, at his torn hair, at his posture, at his face.

And something snapped.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded. His voice was ice cold.

Yugi’s face fell. That tone was too familiar. “D-Did this to me?”

Atem moved closer. “You are hurt. Tell me who did this to you.”

It took every inch of willpower not to back himself against the door, almost expecting to see the glint of a knife. “I—I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

“Your neck is bleeding.”

Bleeding?

Yugi pressed a hand to his neck, and pulled it away to look.

Red.

His stomach dropped to his feet.

 “Who did this to you?” Atem repeated.

Yugi looked up from his hand and at the ghost could have sworn there was a flash of gold in his eyes. He couldn’t speak.

“Tell me where they are.”

There was an unfinished second half of that sentence, and it screamed his intentions:

 _I will make them pay_.

“Gone,” Yugi blurted. “Not around. I ran.”

“You ran?”

“I got jumped so I ran away. I—I got away, I’m fine—”

“You are _not_ fine, clearly, let me _help_ —”

“No!”

Yugi hadn’t realized he’d backed up until he hit the door, hands in a defensive position covering his face. He could feel yet more tears pricking at the corners of his fear-widened eyes. He was somewhere between hyperventilating and not breathing at all.

“I… Yugi?”

He brought his hands away from his face, finnicky, flinching. Atem’s eyes had lost their fire, now. He looked confused… and hurt.

Yugi swiped one hand across his eyes and used the other to gesture at his neck. “I’ve—I should clean this.”

He walked as fast as he could to the bathroom, giving Atem a wide berth as he did so, trying to ignore the pained look on his face. He knew it wasn’t fair, that Atem hadn’t even hurt him. But it was so hard to forget that blood-chilling smile, the ice in his voice, the cold fire of the knife.

Yugi had almost worked himself into another fit by the time he closed the bathroom door, flipping on the sink and breathing heavily, bracing himself against the rim. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to still his heart, tried to calm his stomach that threatened to heave again.

Once he thought he was better, he looked at himself in the mirror and regretted it.

Yugi stared at his puffy red eyes, his near-colorless cheeks, his trembling lips, and the thin, red line running across his throat. It wasn’t any deeper than a papercut, a few thin streaks of red trickling down the front of his neck. Part of it was smeared where he’d checked it.

Robotically, he reached for a washcloth from under the sink, soaking it in water and dragging it across the wound. It didn’t burn anymore, only pinched when he touched it. He could hardly call it a wound anymore. He lifted his other hand to inspect it, and froze in fear and confusion.

Across the back of his left hand, an ugly, splotchy bruise had started to form, and its twin grew on his palm. The same place that—

No. _No_.

Yugi flipped off the water, tossing the red-stained cloth in the sink and ripped off his shirt.

Four additional blemishes greeted him, colored in dark reds, purples, and blues, and every single one was a place where Hazim had been split open.

One was tucked at the very bottom of his ribs, on the right side of his torso. The other was massive, spreading across the left side of his stomach, vicious and dark. He twisted himself around, and found its match on his back. A smaller bruise curled up in the dip of his collarbone, in the shape of a small oval. He ran his hands over the angry skin, wincing at the painful twinges. They were real.

Hazim wasn’t going to let him forget.

Yugi pressed a hand over his mouth and watched his eyes fill with tears again. This wasn’t _fair_. This wasn’t _right_ – he didn’t have _anything_ to do with Atem or Hazim or their supernatural war against each other. He felt _used_ , played with, like a puppet on a string. He couldn’t do anything about it. These two powerful beings were vying for his approval and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop either of them if they wanted to do _anything_ to him. He was trapped. He was… He was…

Helpless. That was the word. Completely, utterly helpless.

He bent over the sink again, choking back sobs in an attempt to save his already raw throat from even more ill-treatment. He covered his overflowing eyes with his hands, letting the tears pool between his fingers before they leaked out and dripped onto the cloth crumpled on top of the drain. His sinuses clogged with snot and he had to cough wetly to even _breathe_.

There was a soft knock at the bathroom door. Yugi didn’t notice.

He didn’t notice Atem in the small gap in the door as it creaked open. He didn’t notice Atem open his mouth to speak before going speechless as his long-dead eyes locked onto the bruises that painted their way across Yugi’s torso. He didn’t notice the realization in those eyes. Or the fire.

And he didn’t notice the door when it closed, or the silence that came with an empty house.

 

 

There were many places Atem couldn't reach on the physical plane. Most of them, in fact. But the world was different through the eye of his crown.

He felt guilty leaving Yugi alone to weep, but he had something to take care of. So when he closed the bathroom door, he dissolved into the air, and out of existence. The crown on the top shelf in Yugi's bedroom glowed a soft gold. The eye swiveled and stared forward. It blinked once. 

Through his crown, he could see things that weren’t to be seen with mortal eyes. He could see the wandering spirits who refused to pass on, like himself. He saw tiny flickers of energy, of wisps, of those not powerful enough to even grasp hold of reality, much less speak or think or gain physical forms. He saw the spirits that had died in the house before, he saw the ones that had only been dead for several years and the ones dead for centuries. It was strange to know that he would one day join their lonely ranks, after a while, squeezed of power and sanity like a sponge. He would be nothing but a mindless wisp, one day. 

But tonight, he was Khedive Atem Al Sadat. And he had business with his _Mushir_.

Atem focused, and the familiar bedroom melted away in favor of a plane of white. He didn't know if it had a name – this strange place between life and death. He called it the Between, for exactly that reason.

He folded his arms over his chest, and called, "Hazim, I would have a word with you."

The Between was silent and empty, but he knew it wouldn't be long before his charge showed. After all, he was cursed.

"I'm sure you would have many things with me," said a voice, omnipresent and grating as always, "but words are not one of them."

He didn't bother with pleasantries. "I have no idea what you did to Yugi, but did you truly expect me not to _notice_?”

“On the contrary. I _wanted_ you to notice.”

Atem almost regretted that his curse had leached so much power from Hazim. It was hard to convincingly glare daggers at something that he couldn't _see_. But he tried anyway. “If you lay a hand on him again—"

“You’ll what? Kill me?”

He hissed through his teeth, “You will be nothing but a _smear_ across the mortal plane. If you thought me ruthless before, you have seen _nothing_ of me.”

The omnipresent voice tutted, nonchalant. “It’s such a shame he fears you. Though I can’t blame him. Not after what he saw.”

Atem could not feel cold anymore – hadn’t for a long time. He would need a body to feel temperature. But his hot rage stuttered at Hazim’s words. “What did you do to him?”

“You think so low of me. _I_ did nothing. _You_ , on the other hand, did much.”

It was only too plain. The markings had given him a hint, but this was an admittance. Atem shut his eyes and cursed under his breath. His hands shook as he clenched them into fists.

“He was shocked,” Hazim continued, “to see you so unhinged. But you like to play nice for him, don’t you? At least for now.”

His eyes flashed open again. “Leave him _out_ of this. He has done nothing to you.”

"Oh no, not to me. He’s done wonders on _you_ though – I was almost inclined to let him continue.”

"And what makes you think I have even the slightest idea what you mean?"

Atem's face was suddenly pulled to the side by an invisible hand, and he saw something he knew wasn't real, because it couldn't be: Yugi, standing in the Between, smiling, beckoning him forward. None of that pain he had seen earlier, none of the anguish. It was bittersweet. 

"You are distracted _,_ Al Sadat."

The illusion – for that's all it had been – disappeared in a puff of smoke. He huffed and rolled his shoulders. "I am not _distracted_."

"Aren’t you? Then how is it that I have enough power to influence your _lovely_ companion—" Atem’s fingers twitched “—after nearly a century of your fist around my throat?”

"Biding your time, presumably."

He had the gall to laugh. "No, not at all. Your hold over me is _slipping_."

Atem lurched forward, somehow tripping while standing still. He caught himself on one knee. "Enough of this. You _will_ leave him alone."

Instead of a response, a pale hand reached down to him, offering to help him stand. Atem screwed up his face and stood without it, knowing exactly what he would see when he did. 

He stared into an illusion of Yugi's face again, and forced his expression neutral. "Stop it, Hazim."

The not-Yugi smiled at him, confused. "I'm not doing anything. And did you forget my name, or something?"

Atem whirled around and called into the empty Between, "He has nothing to do with this. Stop _using_ him."

"If _I'm_ using him," Hazim's voice echoed, "then what, exactly, would you call _your_ intentions?"

“I do not—”

“I know exactly what you have planned for him.”

He couldn’t have figured it out so quickly. Could he? “Do not presume to know me.”

“What a shame, then, that nobody else but I knows who you _truly_ are. Isn’t that right, _Khedive_?”

Atem pressed his lips into a flat line.

"I dismiss you," he said, and snapped his fingers. A tiny spark of light jumped between them. There was a near-inaudible _pop_ and he knew Hazim was gone. 

"Ugh, finally."

But someone else was still around. 

Atem turned and glared at the not-Yugi, still standing there. An unwelcome reminder.

"I thought he'd never leave," the illusion said. It smiled with Yugi’s face, like it had a secret.

"You are not real," Atem told it, as if that would somehow make it disappear. 

The not-Yugi slid an arm around his neck and drew him close, tongue trapped between his teeth. "But I can be."

"No." It was incredibly difficult to stay mad. To focus.

The other arm slid around his waist. Atem kept himself rigid and still. He closed his eyes, turning his face away. The not-Yugi didn't seem to mind this. It even laughed. He clenched his eyes tighter.

" _It's like a ghost tooown_ ," not-Yugi sang, " _without your love_."

Now _that_ was low.

Atem shoved the illusion off him, pushing it away by the chest. He stalked in the opposite direction, preparing himself to leave the Between.

"You're really just going to walk away?" it said, irritated. He didn't give it the satisfaction of responding, and it made an offended noise. "Of all the—You know Hazim didn't create me, right?"

Atem slowed. Stopped. Turned around. 

The not-Yugi stood where he'd left it, hands on its hips. "Yeah. That's right. I'm an illusion of _your_ creation, buddy."

He furrowed his brows. He hadn't _consciously_ created an illusion. "That is not possible."

"Sure it is. After all—"

The illusion disappeared and reappeared behind him, wrapping its arms around his torso and whispering in his ear.

"—you're _distracted._ "

Atem slammed himself out of the Between, returning to his crown so fast he was surprised it didn't fall off the shelf. Just as quickly, he pulled himself from it, returning to the physical plane and into Yugi's room. He clutched at his incorporeal chest in a panic. And he realized—

This was bad.

This was very, _very_ bad.

 

 

In the days that followed, Atem seemed determined to treat Yugi as fragile as glass, while Yugi was trying to act as normal as possible, doing his best to hide how he flinched when the ghost moved too quickly toward him, or spoke too loudly. Needless to say, life had never been more awkward.

Yugi tried to bring up the journal – he really did. But every time he thought about it, his bruises ached and stung, he felt the burning heat of a golden knife at his throat. And then Atem asked him what was wrong, and he saw something golden flash that couldn't have been there, not really. But it was enough. Enough to make him back down, to come up with another lie. To delay it one more time.

Hazim wanted this. He knew it. He wanted Yugi to grow to hate and distrust Atem so heavily that he wouldn't bat an eye about leaving. Or “ridding” himself of Atem. Or _whatever_ it was that he wanted. It had something to do with Yugi, somehow, in some way. And he knew he was falling right into that trap. He knew it and hated himself for it.

Because he didn't _want_ to hate Atem. He didn't want to dance around him, or startle so easily as his voice, or be so averse to him in general. But he had been _murdered_ by Atem. Vicariously, sure, but he had felt every inch of that pain. Every smile, every laugh, every threat was directed at _him_. And even if he had only been an innocent bystander, even if he hadn't felt himself die through Hazim's body, he knew that nobody deserved a death so painful. So gleeful. So… nonchalant.

And it scared him. Atem scared him.

He was constantly reminded of the ghostly hand around his throat from the first day he'd moved in, how quickly Atem had been willing to suffocate him on the hunch that his crown was in danger. After they talked over that game of Beggar-My-Neighbor, he thought it might just have been a warning, something he wouldn't have followed through with. But if Atem had enjoyed ripping Hazim apart that much, what did that mean for _Yugi_? Would his death be just as violent if he ever crossed the line? Would it be just as enjoyed?

He didn't know. And he couldn't find the courage to ask.

So for four days, Yugi let those questions simmer. For four days, he shied away from ghostly hands. For four days, he averted his eyes from any knife and cleaned his neck and checked his bruises – bruises that he took great pains to make sure Atem never saw. His left hand was often concealed in a pocket or tucked behind his back.

On day five, he came home from work, at the same time as always. "Always," meaning "late." KCStudios was more lenient about crunch time than most other studios – the parent company could more than afford to swallow losses – but jumping on as a game designer for a project that was nearly finished was never easy. The endless meetings with level designers and artists and other designers and programmers were exhausting. And then there was the _actual_ work – the work on the game itself, touching up character details, making sure the story and setting didn't clash, and a functionally infinite laundry list of fixes. But it was pretty much his dream job, so he always had something good to say about his day.

Lately, he'd been quieter about work. He'd been quieter in general.

Atem was sitting at the dinner table when he walked in. _Actually_ sitting. In a chair. Which was odd.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Hey,” Yugi responded, and couldn’t help blinking a few times. He felt like he’d just come home from school to find his mom standing at the door with her arms crossed and not knowing what he’d done wrong.

“How was work?”

This conversation was completely normal. They’d had it a hundred times. So why did it feel so… _scripted_ , all of a sudden?

“Busy, as always. I think I finally fixed the layout of that one level I was telling you about – the one with the cliffside.”

“Ah. Congratulations.” He said it with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. This was _too_ weird.

“Are you okay?” Yugi asked, because he had no idea what else to ask.

To his surprise, Atem sighed and said, “No. I am not.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes. But only if you are willing.”

He swallowed. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. “Sure.”

Yugi walked stiffly into the house, and pulled out the chair across the table from Atem. He scooted in with his hands folded politely in his lap. He nodded shortly. Atem looked like he _really_ didn’t want to talk first, but he did anyway.

“About your… walk,” Atem began, and Yugi almost sunk into his chair. “I know I must have frightened you terribly, but you know I would never— I would not even dream of— of doing that to you.”

Yugi now had not only sunk into his chair, but he was pretty sure his heart had done the same. He didn’t even think about how his behavior must have seemed to the ghost – he had no idea what Hazim had done to him. All Atem had done was ask about who hurt him.

That person just so happened to be _Atem_ , but he wasn’t going to _say_ that.

“It’s okay,” Yugi said. “You were just trying to help.”

 Atem blinked. “What?”

“A bit _aggressively_ , to be fair, but that was no reason for me to be afraid of _you_.”

“You were _attacked_ —”

“And it wasn’t fun, but you had nothing to do with it.” It was such a blatant lie that he almost felt his poker face dissolve, so he quickly jumped into his second grievance of the week. “But that’s not what’s _actually_ bothering me.”

The ghost looked like he’d just been slapped. “Are you _sure_ that was not bothering you?”

Yes, it was, but Yugi pushed on with the second topic anyway, to avoid that little truth. “I’ve had something else on my mind for most of the week, really.”

"What is it?"

No avoiding it now. "I realized that I don't know _anything_ about you, Atem. Nothing."

"Of course you do—"

"No, I really don't." He laughed, a little helplessly, and spread his hands on the table to emphasize the emptiness between them. "We've lived together for months and I don't know the first thing about your life. I tried to find out on my own, but I looked you up and you _don't exist_. What's the deal with that?"

"I do not know."

"Well, neither do I, and I know a lot less than that. I don't know how you got to Japan, I don't know what year you died in, I don't know what you did for fun, I don't know if you were married or had kids, I don't know about your family, I don't even know if you had _siblings_." He was just running down the list now. He cut himself off before it could get a hundred miles long. "You haven't told me anything unless I asked, and even then it's only been the most basic statements. Hell, I don't how long you were the _king_ of _Egypt_ for—"

"Khedive."

"Huh?" 

Atem was looking off to the side, avoiding his eye. "I was not a king. Under the Ottoman Empire, I was Khedive."

Yugi knew that already. But he couldn't admit it. "But you told me you were king."

He shrugged. "I did not think you would know the word. King got the same point across."

"Khedive, then."

"Yes. For three months."

Yugi had already made an involuntary sputtering noise before he could stop himself. "That's _it_?"

Atem turned up his lips in a half-smile. "I told you I was unpopular."

 _Hazim sure works fast,_ Yugi thought, then squashed the thought. It wasn't the time for that. It was _never_ the time for that. He opened his mouth to ask something else but the ghost cut him off first.

"I died in 1848. I left behind no children, but I was married to an Ottoman woman. It was to secure my loyalty, but we were very close regardless. I enjoyed what time I had with her. I had no siblings, either, but I had friends who I was very close with."

All of this happened in the same breath, and it was all Yugi could do to keep up. "Whoa, whoa, hold on."

Atem looked at him, finally. "I thought you wanted to know."

"I do, but why is it all happening _now_? Why couldn't you have just told me before?"

"I never thought it was necessary."

" _Never?_ Atem, this is _basic_ stuff. Not to mention the fact that you said you would tell me what the deal with the crown was when you trusted me."

"I did."

"So? When is that explanation coming?"

Atem sank a little lower into his seat. "In time."

Yugi pressed a hand to the side of his head. "Can I have a date in mind? Is there a certain level of trust I need to earn from you? Did I do something _wrong?"_

He was refusing eye contact again. "No…"

"Then _what_? Why haven't you told me?" 

The ghost was not forthcoming. Yugi sighed. 

"I want to be your friend," he said, as sincerely as possible. "I don't really know what your plan is, but if it's to pass on, finally get some rest—" he waved his hand around in the air "—up there, then I want to _help_. I care about you." 

For whatever reason, that got Atem to look up. 

"I care about you," Yugi repeated, "but you _can't_ keep me in the dark about this sort of thing. I don't know anything about what kind of supernatural abilities you have, but I'm sure not all of them are _nice_. I'd like to know about _those_ as quickly as possible, if you don't mind."

Giving Atem a speech about telling the truth while he was keeping several lies of his own under his belt felt underhanded, but he pushed aside his guilt for now. If Hazim knew Atem was here, that probably meant Atem knew about Hazim. It almost guaranteed it. And they wouldn't even be in this situation if Atem had just _spilled_. 

Then again, Yugi could have spilled when he found the journal. He felt the guilt come crawling back. 

"I shouldn't have to beg you," he continued, just to keep himself from thinking too hard, "to tell me stuff that could be dangerous. If it threatens my safety, I want to know about it. If it threatens _your_ safety, I want to know about it. We're a team, remember?"

Atem finally spoke. "Team?"

He smiled and shrugged. "I protect you, you protect me. Come on, you were the one who came up with it." 

The ghost smiled back. "Right."

"Right. But I can't _do_ that if you don't tell me what you need protection _from._ And it's a lot easier to protect _me_ if we both know what the danger is."

The smile faltered. "I see."

Yugi went quiet. This was going nowhere, but it's not like he was surprised. The dead keep secrets better than anybody else.

He pushed himself out of his chair and said, “Goodnight.”

"Where are you going?" Atem asked, not getting up, but following him with his eyes as left the room.

"To bed.”

"But—"

He stopped and turned back to the ghost. "But _nothing_. You're not _talking_ to me, Atem. If you're not ready, I understand, but you have never once said how much time you would need or why you aren’t ready or if I can help. And I don't want to be…" he closed his eyes, searching for the right way to phrase what he was feeling. "I don't want to be skipping merrily down a path to my doom because I couldn't read the signs." 

"Why would any of this lead to your doom?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

Atem’s conflicted expression only gave way to more silence.

“If you don’t tell me,” Yugi said, walking away again, “then I’ll never be sure.”

He ran a hand across the bruise covering his stomach, shivering as he remembered the phantom knife.

 And that night, he had dreams about navigating a twisting labyrinth, clutching a map written in a language he couldn’t read.

 

 

“Then they gave it back,” Yugi said, rolling his eyes over his coffee, “and said they didn’t understand how to play the game.”

Atem’s expression couldn’t have said _What the fuck_? more blatantly from where he floated above the table, upside down with his legs crossed. “Is that not the point of such a thing?”

“Exactly! It’s a _game design document_ , I didn’t know what else they wanted from me.”

Things had returned to a tentative normal. As Yugi’s bruises faded – slower than normal bruises, but they did fade – the memory of why he’d gotten them grew less potent. It was easier to look Atem in the eye, and ghost seemed to be compensating for the recent tension in the air, toning himself down significantly.

He had taken to announcing himself by whooshing into rooms and kicking up wind so it was never a surprise where he was, keeping within Yugi’s line of sight whenever possible, staying a polite distance from him unless he gave permission, always moving with a delicate precision, a way that could never be mistaken for aggression.

But there was still an invisible barrier between them, because Atem still hadn’t answered any of Yugi’s concerns. As much as he hated the feeling, Yugi couldn’t completely trust him anymore. He just didn’t know if he was _safe_ in the ghost’s company. Why would he be refusing to talk about it if it wasn’t dangerous? What was he hiding?

So Yugi backed off – made his bubble smaller. Their game nights and movie nights grew less frequent. Physical contact was almost non-existent. He didn’t ask for help getting things down from high shelves. He locked the front door behind him instead of letting the ghost take care of it. He hardly ever talked about work.

He was only telling _this_ story because the ghost had asked for an update on a recent pitch to a publisher, and pushed for details when Yugi’s first answer was “rough, but it got through.”

“What did you do next?” Atem asked.

“I got together with the other designers,” Yugi said, “and we wrote up a flow chart explaining one of the levels. Guess what?”

“They gave it back?”

He put out his hand, palm up, to confirm the answer. “They gave it back.”

“Unbelievable.”

“That’s what I said.” He gulped down more of his coffee and continued the story. “At this point, I’m desperate, so I sat down in the office for four hours and made a little animation of the gameplay to send over. It was _painfully_ simple. A third grader would have said it was dumbed down.”

“And?”

“And they _finally_ got it. But you know what the best part is?” He put down his mug to steeple his fingers in front of his mouth. “They asked me why I didn’t include it in the first document.”

Atem buried his face in his hands and groaned painfully. Yugi pointed emphatically. “That’s what I did too!”

“These people are _professionals_?”

“Top of the industry.”

He scoffed into his hands, and dragged them down his face. “At least they understand the concept, now.”

“After this long working on it, they better.”

“When does the game release?”

Yugi paused with his mug halfway to his lips. “Two months, give or take a week.” He took his drink and checked his phone, and nearly spit the coffee across the table when he saw the time. “Shit, I gotta go.”

Atem flipped right-side up. “Before you leave, I—”

But Yugi was already out his chair, chugging what was left in his mug before rushing to rinse it in the sink and flying back across the house. He raced right past the ghost without even sparing a glance. Cold followed him down the hall to his room.

“Can I—” Atem started again, only to be silenced as Yugi shut the bedroom door in his face.

The ghost could just walk through the wall if he wanted, but he always opened and closed doors out of politeness. That, and Yugi had started cared about modesty again, always getting changed with the request for the ghost to leave. Or doing this.

He tried to ignore the twinge in his chest from the action, focusing on getting dressed. He was lucky the studio would let him wear basically whatever as long as he wasn’t naked or covered in gross stains.

“You realize this is ridiculous,” Atem said through the door.

“Not really,” he responded. “I’m getting dressed.”

“That is not what I was talking about.”

He threw on a random shirt. “Then can you tell me _after_ I get home?”

“I have tried.”

“Well try again tonight.”

“Yugi—”

“I have to _go_.”

He struggled into his jeans, collected his essentials, and threw open the door with the intention of sprinting to his car. He halted and took a step back when he saw Atem standing resolutely in his way.

“I just,” the ghost said, visibly and audibly irritated, “need to say—”

Yugi tried to sidestep around him. “It can wait, I have to go to work.”

The ghost slid over to block his exit. He frowned and stepped to the other side. Blocked again.

“Really?” he sighed.

“Yes, _really_. I have something to say.”

“And I told you it can wait.”

“It is important.”

“And it’ll still be important later.” He inched to the side again, only to huff when a transparent body zipped over.

Atem’s eyes were blown wide in frustration. “Are you even _listening_?”

He planted his hands on his hips. “Yes! I am! You’re just going to have to _wait_ , I’m going to be late for—”

“This is a matter of safety.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from not saying anything until the last minute before, don’t let it stop you now.”

The ghost rose up in the air like an animal making itself look bigger to scare off predators. “Do you or do you _not_ want me to help you?”

And thus, the true grievance showed itself.

“How do you expect me,” Yugi growled, bristling up at him, “to trust your ‘help’ when you won’t tell me _anything_ about you? How do you expect me to trust a _single_ goddamn thing you say?”

“I have been _protecting you_.”

“Have you, Atem? Because your ‘protection’ recently got me _this_.” He lifted the left side of his shirt and jabbed a finger at the bruise there, faded to an ugly yellow-green, splotches of purple and red still visible near the center.

It was a low blow and both of them knew it. So low that all Atem could do was frown and sputter. Yugi didn’t even bother to wait for a response – he walked right through the ghost and into the hall, shivering at the downpour of cold.

“I’m going to _work_ ,” he repeated, ignoring Atem’s shocked wheeze as he stalked away.

Nothing followed, this time, when he jammed on his shoes and yanked open the front door. He was hardly paying attention to where he was walking, eyes pinched together in anger and annoyance and a little bit of guilt he didn’t want to acknowledge and—

Yugi’s eyes flashed open when his foot caught on a loose board, and he fell.

He was pitching forward too quickly to stop it, but twisted around to try and catch the edge of the railing anyway. It was too late – he was falling back, back, _back_. All he could do was flail helplessly as his back the stairs hard, and his breath was knocked out of his lungs.

His foot came loose from the board, his legs kicked up over his head from the momentum. He was jerked onto his stomach to skid down the wooden steps, his arms and head pricked with splinters and jabbed with corners. He scrambled for a handhold, something to grab onto—

A breathless cry left his lips when he felt the loose nail jab into his left palm and _tear_ him open. He ripped his hand away, gritting his teeth through the searing pain. It didn’t stop his fall, now thrown onto his side and rolling, blood dripping from his hand.

Desperate, he tried to push off one of the stairs to stand, but it only sent him hurtling forward again. He reached his arms out, praying to break his fall.

Yugi hit the ground with a sickening _snap_ and he _screamed._

His vision went white as he collapsed and burst into a thousand colors when he landed on his right arm because _it_ _hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_ —

Through his haze of pain and shaking and trying not to inhale dirt, he rolled onto his back, legs half tangled between the steps, his right arm stretched out next to him, his cut hand in a fist between his teeth as he let out a tortured groan. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt shocked tears roll from the corners of his eyes and into his hair. 

He felt sick. He felt dizzy and sick and blood oozed out of his fist and into his mouth, his fingers digging into where the nail had sliced his hand open, stinging and throbbing. One of his ankles was painfully caught in the gap between two stairs, the other leg sprawled wildly. His breath came in short, gasping pants. He felt his old bruises and fresh ones alike throb, a hundred dull aches being prodded with rocks as he lay in the dirt. 

But it was all nothing compared to his arm. 

Yugi’s right arm was simultaneously numb and cold, and burning white hot in agony. It was in blistering, excruciating pain, like it was being hacked off with a meat cleaver. He couldn't move it. He didn't dare open his eyes to look, afraid of what he'd see – broken, bent, twisted, wrong, _hurt_ , _hurt, hurt so bad._

He was so delirious he hardly heard his name being called from the top of the stairs.

"Yugi, what happened? Are you alright?"

Yugi opened his eyes and saw Atem half melted out of the doorway, face screwed up in concern. Blearily, he wondered if _this_ was the safety hazard the ghost had been trying to warn him about.

He forced his fist out of his mouth, licking the blood off his teeth, and tried to push off his arm to sit up. Another surge of pain zapped him like a taser, and he collapsed back to the dirt with a strangled groan.

"Fell,” he choked, “Arm's fucked. Need help."

Without hesitation, Atem swept down the steps and got to his usual halfway down before hitting an invisible wall. He swore colorfully. 

"I will be right back," he said. He didn't even wait for a response before flying back up the stairs and through the front door. Yugi hardly noticed. 

The wound in his left palm stung where he'd dug into it, red painting his fingers up to the first knuckle, blood dripping down his arm. He stared at it blankly, like a baby staring up at a mobile. His broken arm – because it was definitely broken – pulsed deeply, sending ripples of distress through his body. His brain tried to squirm away from it, fuzzy and dazed and _begging_ him to close his eyes and sleep.

_Ting-ting-ting_

Something metallic hopped down the stairs, skipping over steps merrily. It glinted in the sunlight, coming to a rolling stop where Yugi's ankle was stuck between the steps. He squinted at it.

The crown?

It was all he had time to think, because a familiar transparent body came with it. Atem, _more_ than halfway down the stairs. _Able_ to be halfway down the stairs.

Yugi blinked up at up him like a stupid dog. “How…?”

“I will explain later,” Atem promised, “but now…” he trailed off as he broke their gaze and trailed over the rest of his body. His jaw set when he saw something to his right. Instincts taking over, Yugi turned his head to look.

His arm. His arm, oh _God_ that was his arm sprawled in the dirt and he felt twice as sick. Panic bubbled up in his chest like a volcano and his eyes widened and it _was not supposed to bend like that_ —

“No, no, no,” the ghost said, instantly rushing to the opposite side and turning Yugi’s head away with a cold hand to his cheek. “Look at me, Yugi, at me.”

Yugi just followed the instructions, staring up at Atem and trying his damndest not to cry, the space behind his eyes burning with the effort of holding back tears. But his head was already pounding, and he hurt _everywhere,_ and the image of his mangled arm wouldn’t _leave_.

Atem picked up his bloodied left hand and gripped it in his own, forcing Yugi to look him in the eye. “You are going to be fine, I will make sure of it. What can I do?”

What _could_ he do? Yugi glanced at his legs.

“Stuck,” was all he had to cough out before Atem had nodded and slipped away, working the twisted leg out from between the steps.

Yugi watched him work for only a few seconds, bloody hand dropping to his stomach like a limp doll. His eyes were morbidly draw back to his broken arm, head lolling to one side at he stared at the contorted limb. There wasn’t any bone poking through his skin, but there was a lump in his forearm and one in his wrist that made him sick to look at, made him dizzy, made him _hurt_. He wanted to look away, but he just _couldn’t_ , frozen and staring at the foreign brokenness and feeling the pain—

A cold hand tipped his head back again, and this time it stayed, Atem cupping his jaw like he was holding a bird. The other wrapped around the cut hand again.

“At me,” he said, kneeling on the ground.

“It hurts,” Yugi whimpered back.

“I know it does, but you must stay focused. What else do you need?”

Through his hazy mind he thought: _Help_. He needed professional, medical help. But there was no way he would be able to drive to the hospital like this – he could barely sit up.

“I should,” he said, “call an ambulance. Or something.”

The ghost nodded. “Where is your phone?”

Yugi pushed his left hand through Atem’s, patting his pockets and trying to remember where he’d put it. The cut stung every time it met a surface, and left bloody imprints everywhere it touched.

“I think it’s—” He did his best to shift his hips up without putting pressure on his broken arm, “—here.” His left hand groped the phone out of his back pocket. It had a long crack across the screen that hadn’t been there before. Yugi tipped the phone to the ghost – his hand was too dirty to use it. And slippery.

“Is it still working?” Atem asked. He gently lifted the phone out of the bloody hand, and clicked it on. It was, in fact, working. “Alright, what do I do?”

“Bottom left. You should be able to just call emergency services.”

The hand left Yugi’s face and Atem pecked at the screen as if he didn’t expect it to do anything. He flipped the screen to show Yugi once he’d done what was asked. He motioned for the ghost to bring the speaker closer.

The conversation didn’t last more than five minutes once someone picked up. Yugi explained his situation, gave his address, and was assured that an ambulance was on the way. The call ended, and Atem placed the phone on the ground, within reach if necessary. But he clearly wasn’t focused on it, hands returning to where they’d been before.

“How long?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Yugi said. He flexed his left hand – his fingers were getting cold and numb, and it had nothing to do with the ghost. The cut was still bleeding.

Of all the things Yugi could have done or said – on the ground, dizzy, bleeding, in pain – he laughed. It sounded hysterical and horrible, even to himself, but he stared into the sun and laughed. His broken arm spiked as his convulsing chest jostled his body and his hand stung when it clutching his stomach and the panic came rushing back up his chest and into his brain and out his throat and he _laughed_.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Atem was not even in the same universe as him, now looking more concerned than he had been at the top of the stairs – even _scared_. He grabbed the bleeding hand again and used the one Yugi’s face to swipe at his eyes. Had he been crying?

“Everything will be alright,” the ghost said, but it sounded more like he was _wishing_ for it. “You are going to be fine, Yugi, just lie still.”

“This sucks.”

The smile he got was about as forced as it could possibly be. “It does. But it will not be forever, I promise.”

“It _fucking_ hurts.”

“If I could ease your pain, I would.” Atem almost looked guilty for not being able to do something. He _definitely_ looked frustrated – helpless, and angry about it.

Yugi was not in his right mind, thoughts slipping in and out of his brain like water, before leaving him blank and dizzy again. Maybe that’s what possessed him to say, “I’m sorry. For what I said. I know you were just trying to help.”

Atem shook his head and brushed Yugi’s bands out of his eyes. “No, you have nothing to apologize for. I have not exactly been transparent about my—”

He broke off when Yugi started laughing again. “T-transparent,” he giggled. “Because you—you’re—”

The ghost smiled genuinely this time. “You know what I meant.”

Wailing sirens interrupted their conversation, approaching sirens. Atem looked over his shoulder, anxiety plain as day on his face.

“I have to go,” he said.

Yugi’s heart jumped into his throat, his head clearing just enough to start panicking again. “Go? What?”

The ghost slipped away, and Yugi’s hand dropped to the ground. Atem swept back to the stairs and picked up the crown, just as quickly coming back down and pressing the golden thing to Yugi’s chest.

“Take this with you,” he said, and retreated again.

The sirens were getting closer. Yugi struggled to sit upright, his broken arm screaming at being moved, his cut burning furiously as he used the hand to press himself up. The crown fell into his lap. He hardly registered any of it.

Atem was fading. Sparks curling around his transparent form and he was disappearing.

“Don’t leave?” Yugi mean to say it like a demand, but it came out a question. A request.

Only his top half was visible, but Atem used it to grab both sides of Yugi’s face and press their foreheads together.

“Never,” he whispered. “I never leave you.”

And then he was gone.

Yugi stared into the air. He swiped at it with his bloody hand. It wasn’t cold.

He was forced away from the empty space as the sirens reached their highest pitch and an ambulance pulled into his driveway. Time to go.

Against his better judgement, he struggled to his feet. He clutched the crown to his stomach with his bloodied arm, the broken one dangling limp and disfigured.

Yugi took one step toward the ambulance before the ground rushed up to meet him.

 

 

For the third time, Yugi woke up.

The first time, he’d been in the ambulance, quickly going back under with the help of morphine. The second time, they’d been arriving at the hospital. This time, he was in a bed. A hospital bed, to be exact.

Bleary eyed, he sat up and blinked down at himself under the crisp white sheets. His left hand was wrapped in gauze up to his mid-wrist. An IV tube snaked down the same arm, held down with a small piece of tape. His right arm was already locked down in a white cast just past the elbow, elevated with a few pillows shoved between his hip and the bed’s railing. He was wearing something different now – probably for the best, seeing as his regular clothes were probably covered in dirt and blood.

He settled back down and prepared to go right back to sleep, head still swimming with either painkillers or exhaustion, until the door clicked open. A doctor with blue scrubs in a white coat entered, and smiled politely at her patient in the bed.

“Hello,” she said. “Feeling better?”

Yugi nodded. “Much, thank you.”

The doctor approached his bed and pulled a clipboard out of her jacket. “I’m just going to give you a quick rundown of what happened while you were out and when you should check in with your regular physician, okay?”

He sat up in the bed and nodded. “Sure.”

Over the course of several minutes, Yugi learned that his right arm had broken in three places – near the wrist, on his forearm, and his elbow, all of them caused by landing in the perfectly wrong place while trying to catch himself. The break in the elbow wasn’t severe enough to require surgery or a screw to hold it in place, thankfully, but he _would_ be wearing a cast for ten weeks. The thought alone made him want to curl back up, but he stayed upright long enough to hear the rest of her explanation, and instructions on how to take care of it.

His hand wasn’t nearly as bad as it had felt, which was surprising. He had needed stitches, and he was instructed to re-wrap his gauze once a day, but after ten days he’d be able to have them taken out.

“And,” she said, handing him a piece of paper with a signature, “this is a prescription for Vicodin, if you have any serious pain these next couple days. You shouldn’t be feeling more than a few aches after a week, with some lasting soreness thereon.”

Yugi took the paper and glanced around the room. "Is my stuff…?"

"Oh, right over there."

The doctor pointed to a chair pushed against the wall next to him. There were his clothes, folded neatly, along with his freshly cracked phone, and – he sighed in relief – the crown sitting on top of it all. It glimmered in the light, as if to reassure him it was still there.

"You're free to go whenever you like," the doctor continued.

He nodded, returning his attention to her. "Thank you. I'll probably call someone to come get me soon." Considering his car was still parked in his driveway, he didn't really have a choice. Plus, he didn't really feel like trying public transportation today.

"No problem. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

And then she left. The door to his room opened and shut and he was alone again. 

Well. Not really. 

Yugi eyed the crown again on the pile of his stuff. He hadn't ever taken it out of the house before, and seeing it on a surface other than his bedroom shelf was alarming. But if it could do what he _suspected_ it could do, then…

He glanced around the room and at the door, making sure nobody was coming.

"Atem?" he asked, hardly more than a whisper.

The eye in the center of the crown lit up with a white-gold light. A gray film like smoke slowly filtered out of the metallic carving, dancing through the air, creating a familiar transparent shape. 

Somehow, Atem was there with him, in the hospital. It was similarly alarming, but for a completely different reason.

"How are you?" the ghost asked, gliding to the edge of the hospital bed and folding his legs in the air. 

"A lot better," Yugi said, smiling and astonished. "You can do that?"

"Indeed, I can. Although—" he scooted a little closer, "—I am not sure if it is safe for me to be visible here."

"There’s nobody else around, though."

Atem gave him a look. "If your movies and games have taught me anything, it is that ghosts and hospitals do not often mix favorably."

"Oh yeah. Um." 

Yugi looked down and all around the room for a decent place to hide the ghost that had hitched a ride to his room. 

“What if you just stand over here?” he offered, gesturing over his left shoulder. The corner of the room was empty, and the view from the entrance was blocked by a smattering of probably important medical appliances.

"I suppose it is better than nothing."

Atem drifted casually to the corner, now floating between the wall and Yugi's bed. He had to lean around the IV stand to look him in the face, but it sure beat being spotted by a nurse. 

Yugi looked back at the pile of his stuff, particularly at his phone. He needed to call somebody. He shuffled his legs off the edge of the bed, grunting to a sitting position. That cast was bulkier than he thought. 

"Where are you going?" Atem asked, coming a bit more forward. 

He gestured as best he could with his clunky cast. "I have to get my phone."

"You do not _have_ to do anything but rest."

"I can't leave unless I get somebody to come pick me up."

Atem pushed on his shoulder, in a way that clearly meant _Lay back down before I make you._ "Allow me."

"But you'll—"

The ghost was already moving, diving like a dolphin to get low to the floor and swim through the air, back to the pile of stuff. He snatched the phone so quickly his hand was a blur, and was right back in his corner before Yugi had even gotten resettled.

"There you are," Atem said, handing the phone over. 

Yugi took it. "Thank you." 

"Not at all."

Operating something as simple as a phone proved to be more difficult than he expected it to be. The cast limited the mobility of his hand and his left hand was still getting used to being the dominant one now. He resorted to setting it down in his lap and poking at it.

"Who are you calling?" Atem asked, leaning around to peek over his shoulder.

"My mom. She lives really nearby, and everyone else is at work." He pressed the green call button, and watched the screen ring.

The ghost nodded and leaned back to recline in midair. He looked troubled about something, and Yugi almost asked him what it was when his call was answered. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, Momma," Yugi said. He only tried to hold the phone to his ear for that long before putting it on speaker in his lap.

"Oh, Yugi, how sweet of you to call!"

"Sorry, it's been a while, I've been… busy."

"That's alright, dear, I understand. Tell me, how are you? How is everything?"

He cringed in preparation, with a nervous laugh. "I'm in the hospital."

In the way only a mother can, she shrieked, "You're _what_?"

It took a minimum of two minutes to calm her down again. Two minutes of Yugi explaining what happened and admitting that he didn't _know_ how many stitches he got because he was unconscious, and _then_ having to explain to her that he was fully recovered from _that_ , too. 

Atem stayed politely silent the whole time. The most he ever did was half-smile, quirking his lips when Yugi had to exasperatedly reassure his mother about something _else_ , but it would always fade as soon as it showed. It gave way to a pensive expression, with thoughts clouding his transparent eyes. 

"Okay," Yugi said, finally. "I'll see you then."

"I love you, honey."

"Bye. Love you."

He swiped the call off and collapsed back on the bed, rubbing his eyes. 

"That was a terrible idea," he declared.

"I think it went rather well," Atem said.

"Were you _listening_?"

"Mostly."

Yugi snorted and lightly tossed his phone to the foot of the bed. He couldn't use it without irritating himself. Besides, he had more important things to worry about, as the ghost at his bedside had relapsed back into silence and brooding.

"You okay?" Yugi asked.

Atem didn't respond right away. He looked like he was rolling something around in his mouth, working his jaw in a circle, before he said, "I would like to tell you the truth, now. If you would hear it."

"The truth about what?"

"Everything."

So now it was time. For both of them.

“In that case,” Yugi sighed, “I need to tell you the truth about some stuff, too.”

“What about?”

Great, he had to go first. Might as well get it out of the way.

“When I found your picture,” he started, staring into his lap, “I found a journal, too. And I found out about your life. That you were a regent and who your family was and why you were… a controversial choice. And who killed you. And—”

“You met Hazim.”

Yugi looked up, not startled, but impressed that he would admit to it so easily. “So you _do_ know about him.”

Atem’s face was heavy with exhaustion. “Yes. I know about him.” He closed his eyes, pained. “And I know what he showed you.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach. "Oh."

"I did not realize it at first. But I saw your bruises, and I... I recognized them."

Instinctively, Yugi's "good" hand went to his stomach. "Sorry. I meant to keep it to myself."

"You should not have had to."

He couldn't really argue with that. So he didn't. Atem took up the mantle of speaking again.

“It would be best,” he said, “if I were to start from the beginning.”

Yugi made himself comfortable in the bed, moving the pillows that propped up his casted arm so he could lie on his side to face the ghost. He figured he’d be listening for a while.

Atem was only half looking at him when he started. “When I was selected to be regent by Khedive Muhammad Ali Pasha, I did not exactly have a choice in the matter of refusal. In 1826, I was plucked from my life and placed into a new one. I admit, I was bitter. I was angry. And I elected to make myself as difficult a regent as possible.

“I was petty and aloof and cold. I began to enjoy it, eventually – playing my role, playing games with the other members of the council. The politicians clearly disliked me, but had no choice but to tolerate me. The Khedive’s word could not be disobeyed, after all. But even if I had _not_ made a point of being as aggravating as possible, Hazim and I would have never gotten along.

“Hazim was the _Mushir_ , the highest military rank, and he was responsible for teaching me how to properly strategize in such situations. It was…” Atem could only sigh, his face taut with past annoyances.

“Bad?” Yugi offered.

He snorted. “Yes, it was _bad_ , to put it lightly. We were constantly at odds, snapping at each other, insulting each other. I am surprised he did not take the chance to kill me during one of our many lessons, now that I know that was his plan. And yet, we rarely ever disagreed on a strategic front. He was a brilliant tactician, and his methods were sound. No matter how often we clashed, we tended to think similarly in the grand design of things.”

“Were you just too different?”

Atem shook his head. “No. If anything, I think we were too similar. We shared a certain amount of…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “We took a great deal of _pride_ in our abilities.”

“So, you both wanted to be the smartest guy in the room?”

He laughed shortly. “In a manner of speaking. But Hazim was always more aggressive about his presence, while I preferred a more cunning route. This—” he tapped the sides of his index fingers together “—is where the animosity came from. I thought he was a garish brute, and he thought I was a conniving snake. From there, it frustrated the both of us, to see eye to eye on so many things, and hardly able to stand the other’s presence for much longer than our allotted hour. So we simply hated each other.” He glanced out the corner of his eye knowingly. “We had a brawl once.”

It wasn’t that funny, but Yugi felt himself holding back a snort anyway. “What did he do?”

“We were playing a war game. He refused to admit I had out maneuvered his strategies, and I refused to admit defeat. Before either of us knew it, we were out of our chairs and throwing punches instead of— Oh, alright, go ahead and laugh.”

While Atem pretended to be exasperated, Yugi took his hand away from his mouth and released the laughter that refused to leave him alone. “S-sorry,” he said, through giggles.

“I am glad at least _one_ of us is entertained.” The statement had absolutely no bite.

“Okay,” Yugi said, clearing his throat, “okay, I’m good. Go on.”

He took only a moment to smile and roll his eyes before growing serious again. “I served as regent for just over twenty years—”

“Twenty _years_?”

“What?”

“That picture of you—that was taken when you were twenty-eight. Did they appoint you _that_ young?”

Something nervous flashed in his eyes. “Ah. N-no. I was appointed at sixteen.”

Yugi did some quick math in his head, but the numbers just weren’t making sense. “Then you would have been _thirty_ - _five_ when that picture was taken. Right? Not twenty-eight.”

Atem was fidgeting uncomfortably. “I—I might have fibbed a small bit about that.”

“What? Why?”

“I—I was worried about—about, ah. Being. Old.”

“Old? Atem, you’re _two hundred_.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled, “I suppose I… might have missed the boat on that front.”

Yugi just punched his shoulder lightly. “For what it’s worth, you don’t look a day over a hundred and fifty.”

The ghost cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the air. “We have gotten a bit off topic, I will. Continue.”

Yugi waved him on. “Please.”

“Yes. Anyway. I was regent for over half my life, and despite my determination to irritate the council into insisting I leave, I stayed on. The Khedive was not a friend of mine, but he was also the one ally I had. He was the one who arranged my marriage. My wife, Feriha, was the granddaughter of an important Ottoman bureaucrat. It was to secure my loyalty, and as a heavy-handed notice to his council that I was here to stay.”

The mood had mellowed out again, and it was clear from the look on Atem’s face that it was only about to drop farther down.

“But Hazim had _other_ plans, as you know. The more we worked together, the more irritable we became. We could barely control ourselves in meetings, and most of our ‘conversations’ were shouting matches. We knew exactly how to drive the other insane. It was the only excuse he needed. The others – my heritage, questioning my loyalty – were simply greater motivations. And then the Khedive fell ill. And it was my turn to rule.”

His body became strangely warped, shifting in a way Yugi had never seen before. It rippled like the surface a disturbed lake. He almost said something but—

“Dying is a strange experience, especially when you cannot remember it. I remember going to sleep one night, my last night ruling as Khedive. I felt no pain. It was instant. One minute I was alive. And the next, I was dead.”

Yugi watched the ghostly body change. His throat tightened. “Atem.”

But he didn’t seem to hear. “I remember waking up but never opening my eyes. I looked down at myself and tried to sit up, but my body would not move. Instead, I felt myself tear away from my own mind, and I thought it was a _dream_ at first—”

“Hey, you’re—”

“—but before I could do a thing, I watched my body be carried off, and I could do nothing else but _follow_ it—”

“You’re _bleeding_.”

That got his attention. Atem jerked out of his mind and looked down at himself. Yugi could only stare at the gash across his neck, deep and wide, open like the gills of a fish, gushing long-dead blood over his body. He was wearing the clothes from his vision – from _Hazim’s_ vision. Yugi looked away.

A few seconds passed, and Atem said, “It is gone.”

Yugi looked tentatively back up – the ghost was back to his old self.

“I did not expect the memory to be so potent,” he said. “My apologies.”

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

Atem sighed through his nose. “I will skip the details, but after killing me, Hazim took my body away and burned it. I have no idea what the rest of the council thought, but they likely were just as happy to see me go.”

Yugi couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What about Feriha?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. I hope she… lived a happy rest of her life. But there is no way to say.”

Tentatively, Yugi stuck his gauze-wrapped hand out and squeezed the ghost’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“I’m sure she loved you.”

He furrowed his brows for a half-second. “Yes. She did.”

Silence.

“What happened after that?” Yugi pressed, if only to get his mind off of it – _both_ their minds.

Atem seemed grateful for the topic change. “After my body was destroyed, I attached myself to the next significant thing that Hazim had taken.” Yugi followed his gaze as he looked across the room at the crown. “I was confused, but I was also furious. I fueled myself with the anger I carried with me, and casted a line for anything my soul would reasonably catch. Even now, I am not quite sure how I did it. Regardless, my crown now serves as my carrying case. Wherever it goes, I must go.”

Despite all of the amazing things this meant, the only thing Yugi thought was, _So I could have taken him bowling after all_.

“After _disposing_ of me,” the ghost spat, as if the words had a bad taste, “Hazim was wise enough not to continue being _Mushir_. Even if the council approved, he knew enough about the people of Egypt to know they would not have approved of my death. He fled the country instead, stowing away on a Dutch trading ship, and arriving several months later on the shores of _Shiroikai_ , Japan.”

“Did he know you were tagging along?”

Atem actually laughed. “If he knew, he would have let the crown sink to the bottom of the sea. No, he had no idea I was there. And I intended it that way. I had no idea what being a wandering spirit _meant_ , and wanted time to… assess my capabilities, if you will.”

Yugi didn’t have to wonder about what that meant. “Curses.”

He flinched. “Yes. Curses. Among other things. Having a visible form, interacting with the physical world – I had to learn it.” His expression soured again. “For thirty years I watched Hazim invent a new life for himself here, while I sat like a souvenir in his study. It was infuriating to say the least.”

 “Is that why you killed him?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead choosing to stare into his transparent hands and brood.

“I killed him,” Atem said, at length, “because I thought it would bring me peace. But the idea of both of us being simply dead did not satisfy me. I wanted him to suffer as I suffered. To exist as I existed – as I currently exist. I wanted to match him year for year, wandering hopelessly between alive and dead.”

His hands were clenched and shaking until Yugi put out one of his own, covering the nearest balled first with his injured hand. Atem relaxed his hands and clenched his eyes instead.

“I was not prepared for it,” he said, hoarse.

“’It’?”

“The curse. It was what I thought I wanted, but the second I casted it, I—I was shattered.” He palmed at his eyes. “It took everything from me—all the power I had accumulated over thirty years, it sucked me dry. I was left not much more than a whisper in the world, and I was trapped in my crown for— for at least a century. I forgot how to speak, how to think, how to _be_. I forgot myself. I forgot _everything_. Quite frankly, I went mad.

“Hazim was with me, hardly existing, fighting me every step of the way, trying to break my curse by breaking _me_. I dedicated that century to keeping him _quiet_. Keeping him at bay. Keeping him from doing much more than running from me. I was relentless in my chase.”

All at once, Yugi understood why Hazim tried to warn him away.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

He had to know. He had to prove to himself that Atem wasn’t all bad. He had to _remind_ himself of it.

As if seeing right through to his thoughts, Atem looked him in the eyes for the first time since he started talking. “It was the worst decision I have ever made.”

All Yugi could do was nod, his tongue trapped in his mouth and unwilling to speak.

He looked away again. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be worth it to simply reverse it, but…”

“Can’t you?”

“Not without destroying myself in the process. And Hazim would not pass on quietly.” He scoffed. “I would hardly expect him to have come to terms with his death, even now.”

“You talk about him like he’s your responsibility or something.”

“I cursed him. He is my charge.” He knitted his transparent fingers together. “As long as I remain a spirit, so will he. Those are my terms. But even if I pass on—” He took away one of his hands, “—it does not mean he would follow. He must settle his differences with what is keeping him on the mortal plane. And I doubt he is in the state of mind to achieve such a thing.”

“What if he was?”

“Then he would simply pass on at the same moment I did.”

“So everything hinges on when _you_ come to terms with your death?”

“Indeed.”

“You don’t want it anymore, right?”

“I despise it.”

“Can’t you break it somehow?”

“Without destroying one of us in the process? No.”

Yugi frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Is there _no way_ to break the it without one of you dying—again?”

Atem’s eyes grew hard. His jaw set. “It is not something I wish to discuss.”

“But you _can_ do it?”

For the second time, the ghost looked him in the eye. But this time, it wasn’t to promise his word. His eyes bore into Yugi’s skull, freezing him to the spot. “It is _not_ something I wish to discuss,” he repeated. Icy daggers. No room for argument.

Yugi decided not to bring it up again. Instead he said, “You said you forgot how to speak after the curse. And how to do _anything_ , basically. When did you remember?”

Atem softened immediately. “Is it not obvious?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“After you.”

He leaned back in surprise. “ _Me?”_

“You were the first person to acknowledge me in nearly a century. All the other people that have lived in that house dismissed me, not that I was strong enough to even suggest my existence. I am surprised my crown lasted as long as it has without being thrown out or taken somewhere else, but no one seemed to want anything to do with me. There was a long spell – perhaps twenty years – when I interacted with no one except Hazim, and he was even weaker than I. I was little more than an animal, protecting what I needed to continue surviving.”

Yugi quirked a brow. “Is that why you almost choked me to death?”

 He laughed sheepishly. “And why I was rather tone deaf when it came to conversations. It had simply been so long.”

“So what happened? What did _I_ do?”

“You spoke to me. You gave me a way to speak back. It was only a matter of time before my voice returned to me, but I did not even realize it was something I could do until you brought it up. And then I remembered. You know the rest, I am sure.”

Yugi tilted his head as he remembered the morning Atem had gotten his voice back. “You said you just tried to speak and it worked. Is that actually what happened?”

“More or less. It was hard without a mouth to speak _from_ , but I would never have even gotten that far if not for you.”

He looked down into his lap, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t think I helped you _that_ much.”

A cold hand pressed to his shoulder. “And more.”

Atem was smiling. Yugi didn’t have to look up to see that.  “I was just being nice.”

“It has brought me more peace than I have had in more than a century.”

“We’re _friends_ —”

“The only friend I have had in more than a century.”

He huffed and looked back up with an exaggerated frown. “Stop being nice.”

“I am afraid you will simply have to accept it.”

Yugi brushed the hand off his shoulder. “Outrageous. You’ve forced my hand.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. You’ve forced me to say that renting out a haunted apartment was probably the best thing that’s happened to me all year.”

Now it was Atem’s turn to be sheepish. He tried to look aloof, but failed. “Exaggeration.”

“You’re just going to have to accept it.”

They shared a short laugh, keeping it quiet for the sake of people wondering why there were _two_ voices coming from a room where there should only be one person.

Another question rose to Yugi’s mind, killing his good mood a tad. He didn’t want to ask it, but he knew it was important. “You said Hazim was trying to destroy you, right?”

Atem sobered instantly. “Yes. I am unsure if he will ever stop.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are asking why he would… show that to you.”

“More or less.”

For a man without lungs, Atem sure found a way to sigh a lot. “I can only speculate on what he wants, but it likely has less to do with you and more to do with me.” He curled his lip like an angry dog. “He wishes to isolate me, so I can become an easier target.”

That made a lot of sense, but something still itched at the back of Yugi’s mind. “Didn’t your curse weaken him?”

“He has been gaining power since I have. Since… you.”

That… made even more sense. First in his dreams, then in person, and then _in_ his person. He shuddered.

“I suspect,” the ghost continued, “that he wishes to use you against me.”

“Tough luck, then. You’re my friend, and I’m sticking by that.”

Yugi straightened himself in the hospital bed and stuck out his left arm like he was about to wrestle with it. Atem gripped it similarly, but it wasn’t a battle. It was show of solidarity. 

“And I promise to stick by your side as well,” he said.

“Hell yeah.”

“ _Hell_ yeah.”

Yugi cringed back, taking his hand with him, but couldn’t help a smile. “That’s so weird. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say modern things.”

“I can say whatever I please.”

“You can, but you _shouldn’t_.”

“But I am—” he paused, staring off to the side. He grew a diabolical smile.

“Don’t you _dare_ —”

“I am _so lit_.”

Yugi dissolved into a pile of secondhand embarrassed ashes, pulling his knees up, burying his face in them, and throwing his hands over his ears. “Never ever do that again.”

“Would you say that you have been _cancelled_?”

“That’s—You’re not even using it right!”

“Ah, perhaps I have been snatched.”

“I hate you. I _actually_ hate you.”

Before Atem could come up with another way to threaten Yugi’s life, the door was thrown open without warning. The ghost immediately pressed himself against the wall and popped out of existence. Yugi startled himself to a more casual position only to be smothered by his mother, who was trying to crush all the air out of his body in a single deadly hug.

“Hi, Momma,” he choked.

“Yugi, you should have called me _right away_ , how did you even _manage_ this?”

“I’ll tell you when I can _breathe_.”

Reluctantly, she let go, and circled to the opposite side of the hospital bed. She pulled up an empty chair, worryingly close to where Atem was hovering. Yugi’s eyes flickered to the corner.

“Is everything alright?” his mother asked.

“Totally fine,” he insisted, smiling innocently. “I’ve just had a long day.”

He tucked an invisible strand of hair behind his ear, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in a _Get out of there_ motion. A cold wind brushed across his back and he tried not to shiver. His mother, however, shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s a little chilly in here,” she said.

“You get used to it.” It wasn’t a lie – he preferred colder rooms now out of sheer familiarity.

She sat forward, putting a hand on the edge of the bed. “What _happened_ this morning, honey?”

That was a loaded question, with a truth that was stranger than any lie he could come up with. He decided to play it safe. “I was rushing out the door and I wasn’t paying attention. I got tripped up on a loose board when I was going down the stairs and—” he gestured to himself, “—suffered the consequences.”

Her eyebrow knitted together sympathetically. “No wonder you couldn’t drive.”

“My phone saved me a lot of grief.”

“It must have been awful waiting there alone.” Her concern turned to motherly scolding. “You really should have called me.”

“I could barely hold my phone up.”

“Really?”

He lifted his arms again. “One hand has a giant cut, one is attached to a broken arm.”

She took the gauze-wrapped hand. “I should come stay with you for a couple weeks. If it’s that bad, you’re going to need some help.”

Bad idea. _Terrible_ idea.

“No, that’s okay,” he said, a little _too_ fast.

“You live alone! It’s going to be difficult by yourself.”

“It’s alright, I’ve already got help.”

She frowned. “Who?”

Yugi froze.

 _Whoops_.

A flicker of movement over her shoulder, pressed against the wall, caught Yugi’s attention momentarily. It was Atem’s hand – _just_ his hand – waving as it peeked through the nothingness.

“Uh… A friend,” he said. “A friend offered to help me. You don’t know him.” _So please don’t ask._

She asked. “You call a friend for help before your own mother?”

“No, he was at my place when I fell down. He said he’d stick around for a couple weeks to help me out.” _Stay cool, stay cool, don’t mention the ghost thing_.

“Is he your roommate?”

“No. He was just… staying overnight.”

“Really?”

“Really.” _This is the lamest excuse ever_.

As if agreeing with his unspoken thoughts, his mother sighed and shook her head, leaning back into the chair. “Yugi, you’re an adult now. I know I’m still your mom, and it’s ‘embarrassing’ to talk about, but you don’t have to keep your relationships a secr—”

Yugi interrupted with a confused and mildly panicked, “ _What_ are you talking about?”

She shrugged, as if it were obvious. “It’s okay to tell me if you have a new boyfriend, I’m not going to—”

He put up both his hands but couldn’t decide if he wanted to cover his eyes or his ears. Or his entire face. Or strangle himself. “Mom. No. That’s not at _all_ what’s happening.”

“So this _friend_ who was staying over at your place—”

“Yes. Friends do that.”

“—a friend who I just so _happen_ not to know—”

“I can make _new_ friends!”

“—has offered _out of the blue_ to help you recover for several weeks? Living in your house? And he’s not your roommate _or_ your boyfriend?”

Yugi almost screeched another excuse when the ghostly hand grew the rest of its body to reveal Atem just barely holding it together. One of his hands was slapped across his mouth, the other thrown over his stomach and clutching his side. He was looking up at the ceiling, and if he had active tear ducts in the afterlife, Yugi would have bet money on tears of repressed laughter shining in the corners of his eyes. Worse: there was no way Atem would risk being spotted like this if he wasn’t making a statement. He _wanted_ Yugi to see just how badly he was losing it.

He was never going to live this down.

“Mom,” Yugi said, hoping his look at the wall wasn’t suspicious enough for her to turn around, “I promise that we’re _just_ friends.” _And that he is so fucking dead when I get out of here._

She put her hands up in surrender. “Alright. He’s not your boyfriend.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause.

“But if he _was_ —” she started again.

Yugi groaned into his injured hands and Atem slipped ever closer to dying a second time.

“I’m just wondering—”

“Can we please drop this?”

“One more question, and then I’ll drop it, I promise.”

Yugi picked his head up. “ _Just_ one.”

She held up a finger. “Only one. That’s all.”

“Fine. Ask your _one_ question.”

“In your personal opinion…” She leaned forward with a knowing smile. “Is he cute?”

“Mom—!”

She sat right back into her chair. “That’s it, all done. Just that one question.”

Atem was now biting his own fist to muffle himself. Yugi wondered if whatever was coming through the IV was unimportant enough for him to justify ripping it out and running like hell.

“I’m _not_ answering that,” he said.

“You let me ask the question, I deserve an answer!”

The ghost calmed himself down just long enough to nod over her shoulder, as if saying _She’s right, you know._ Yugi didn’t even pretend to look happy about this situation. He dragged his gauzed hand down his face, and stared very pointedly at the ceiling.

“Alright,” he said, as deadpan as he could manage. “Fine. Yes. And no, I will _not_ elaborate.”

He looked forward again. Atem had a hand pressed over his heart with a the most sarcastic look of sincerity Yugi had ever seen. _Thank you_ , he mouthed.

 _Up yours_ , he thought, willing Atem to hear him through whatever bullshit ghost magic he had at his disposal. He never found out if it worked.

“Okay, I can tell you want me gone,” his mother said, and stood up. Atem had disappeared by the time she was on the other side of the bed.

“I’ll be in the lobby when you’re ready to leave.” She bent down and kissed the top of Yugi’s head.

“I’ll be down soon,” he said.

The second the door closed behind her, Yugi flopped onto his back and threw his arms across his face, making a noise between a groan and a sigh. Atem could finally burst a hypothetical lung laughing, appearing at the side of the bed and already in stitches.

“You’re _such_ an asshole,” Yugi told him.

Though his fit, Atem asked, “Wh-what did I do?”

“You’re _laughing_ at my _suffering_.”

“It—It was not _that_ bad.”

“It absolutely was.”

He was calm enough to form complete sentences now. “Nonsense. I thought your mother was _incredibly_ charming.”

“Oh, you would.” Yugi palmed at his eyes. “I need to get out of here immediately.”

“Why the rush?”

“So that you have to shut up again.”

Atem burst into another round of laughter, and Yugi didn’t hesitate to glare full on this time.

“You’re dead to me,” he said.

“I am dead to everyone.”

“You’re _especially_ dead to me.” He crossed his arms and turned up his nose. “I’m retracting the indirect compliment I gave you now. So there.”

“What a shame.”

“Better deal with it.”

“And here I was, planning to return the favor. What a shame, indeed.”

Yugi came down off his high horse for a moment. “You were?”

Atem didn’t look or sound nearly as confident anymore. “It is only fair. And you are… admirable in that respect.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

The quiet that grew in the space leftover couldn’t decide if it was awkward or companionable. And in that moment Yugi decided: yes.

He really did need to get out of here.

 

 

After a quick stop at the drug store to pick up the prescription – because whatever was in that IV bag had been suppressing a majority of his now-present pain – Yugi was back home, waving at his mother from the bottom of the stairs he’d been lying at the bottom of that morning. With a few significant differences. And not just the cast.

He waited until he got into the house to take the crown off, perpetually cold against his forehead.

“Home sweet home,” he said, spinning the golden band between his fingers.

Atem’s form leaked from the eye of the crown, having elected to hide in it until they’d gotten home. In a similar vein, the supernatural chill of the metal bled out as well, growing warmer until it was room temperature. The ghost rolled his joints as if he had muscles to stretch out.

“It was nice of your boss to give you the rest of the week off,” he commented.

Yugi stumbled in his attempt to get his shoes off without his hands. Atem offered his arm for support, and he took it gratefully. “You heard that call?” he asked.

“The only difference between myself now and in the crown,” the ghost explained, “is that now I am free to move about as I please.”

“And you can talk now.

“That as well.”

Successfully free of shoes, Yugi dropped onto the couch, set the crown gently on the table, and upturned his pockets – phone, prescription receipt, and the actual prescription, a little orange bottle of oblong white pills. His broken arm twinged in his cast when he tried unbending his arm instinctively. His left hand felt painfully stretched.

Atem settled down at his side. “Is that your medicine?”

“Yep.”

“How much do you take of it?”

“One pill, if it hurts enough.”

“Only one?”

He shook the bottle around – and then stopped, when his arm protested. “It’s really strong medicine.”

“Will you need all of it?”

“Probably not. But—” he stood up and popped the bottle open, “—I do need one right now.”

He shook out one of the little pills and capped the bottle again, setting it down on the table. He took it to the bathroom and swallowed it with a sip of water from the running sink.

He looked down at his left hand, bandaged up. He couldn’t see the bruises through the white wrappings. He used it to pull back the neck of his shirt, to look the ghost of an oval shaped bruise on his collarbone. It was just barely there, and it still hurt when he pressed on it. But it was fading. He left before he could bring himself to check the other ones.

Atem was still on the couch when he got back, hovering just above the cushion. Yugi sprawled out on the half of the couch that was unoccupied.

“Naptime,” he announced.

“You have been unconscious most of the day,” the ghost pointed out.

“And these drugs are going to put me out again. Naptime.”

As if to end the conversation, he rolled onto his back, his left hand hanging off the side, and his casted arm resting on his stomach, and closed his eyes. It was blissfully quiet for several minutes. Then—

“Should your arm not be elevated?”

Yugi opened one eye. “Hm?”

Atem was hovering above him, pointing at the cast. “Your arm. Did the doctor not say it should rest above your heart when you sleep?”

“Oh, right.”

His head was already swimming from the effect of the painkillers, and he blinked groggily when he sat up. “Needa pillow ‘r somethin’…” A pillow materialized several seconds later, courtesy of a pair of transparent hands. He took it. “Sweet.”

The ghost rolled his eyes. “Really, you should remember these things.”

“I’m _tired_.” He slumped back down to sleep, this time with his right arm propped up on the pillow.

“I can see that.”

“Jus’ draw on my cast if you’re _that_ bored.”

Atem perked up. “I can do that?”

“Mhmm. People draw on ‘em all th’ time.”

He glanced at the white plastic. “I might take the opportunity, in that case.”

“Have a blast.”

His last sentence was barely legible as his thoughts became less words and more feelings, vision blurring and darkening as his eyes closed heavily. He breathed deep.

The last sensation he felt was cold hands on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confession: being a bi that cant do math turned out to be more detrimental to writing fan fiction than i thought it would, because atem's age would have been physically impossible with how young i made him originally. i made him lie about it retroactively because i didn’t want to go back and change it. don’t judge me, i didn’t actually plan for his age to be relevant!!!
> 
> also, i want everyone to know how painful it was to write atem using modern slang. it hurt me. physically. i almost died writing that scene. you better fucking appreciate it. 
> 
> back on my bullshit with another collaborative playlist, check it out and add stuff: https://spoti.fi/2LWME8n


	8. Langue d’Amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter is exceedingly fluffy. please prepare your toothbrushes and dentists appointments, because you will need them. 
> 
> additionally: if you speak french, please don’t judge my awful grammar, i haven't thought about your language since i was in high school

Yugi never thought being stuck at home with two virtually useless arms for a most of the week would be in any way enjoyable. But a lot of things that had never seemed enjoyable (or _possible_ ) were starting to become something he wondered how he could have ever lived without. For example: the thought of changing his gauze once a day was boring and difficult. But in practice?

“It already looks much better,” Atem said, tossing the used gauze away.

Yugi couldn’t help but agree as he flexed his hand under the running sink, now free of bindings, the thick, black thread of the stiches on his palm puckering the pinkish skin. He knew there’d be a scar, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had on the first day. He cut off the water, patting it carefully on a towel.

“I’m surprised it’s healing so fast,” he admitted. “When the doctor told me ten days, I didn’t think she was being _serious_.”

The ghost smiled, brandishing the fresh wrappings. “Having a second pair of hands does not hurt either.”

Yugi smiled back. “Definitely not.”

He relaxed his hand, getting it into as normal a position as possible, and shuddered a little as Atem’s cold hands brushed over his skin. But he had long since stopped caring about the cold.

 The ghost tugged the gauze into place, carefully wrapping it around his palm, around his thumb, and up his wrist. He took his time. Yugi let him.

For whatever reason, rewrapping the gauze was a slow and quiet affair. Quiet, because anything they tried to say died quickly after meeting the air, both of them apparently content to watch the thin white fabric wind around Yugi’s hand and up his wrist. Slow, because Atem always wrapped meticulously, often unwrapping it if he felt it wasn’t “done properly.” Yugi wouldn’t admit that he might have exaggerated the discomfort level of a wrap once or twice, if only to relive the experience of having it done. He wouldn’t admit it, no. But it was obvious enough. Atem never said a word about it.

“How is it?” the ghost asked, hushed as if it were a private conversation. One of his hands was gently looped around Yugi’s wrist. The other brushed quietly over the newly wrapped palm before dropping to his side.

The cold didn’t bother Yugi. He had to swallow a shiver anyway.

He rolled his wrist around, testing the gauze. He almost considered lying about the fit, but the wrap was immaculate. He’d like to keep it at least a _bit_ believable.

“It’s great,” he said.

Atem didn’t say anything. He just squeezed Yugi’s wrist and smiled. They looked at each other. Seconds passed, motionless and silent.

Finally, Yugi pulled his hand away, not unkindly. Only because he knew their time was out. Atem retracted his, too. On the outside, nothing had changed. On the inside, Yugi wondered what switch flipped in the universe when they had to wrap his gauze, and why it _only_ flipped on when wrapping his gauze.

And he wondered why he always felt disappointed when everything went back to normal.

“Back to work,” he mused, halfway out the door before he even finished the sentence, ghost not far behind.

Yugi wasn’t actually going _to_ the studio, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least stay updated with what was happening while he was out. For the past several (boring) hours, he’d been on the couch with the bug reports and patch notes pulled up on his laptop, courtesy of an email from one of his coworkers. It was annoying to not be able to actually _work_ on the game – the NDA prevented him from taking any of his work home with him – but it made him feel better to pretend to work while he was stuck at home being useless.

Back to the couch is where he returned, ready to slog through another seven pages of dry, matter-of-fact details, and not being able to do anything about fixing them – which was the fun part. The task was slightly livened up by the melancholic piano filtering from the TV speakers and the familiar _tk-tk-tk_ of _Minecraft_ blocks being placed in quick succession.

“Which looks better for the terrace?” Atem asked.

Yugi looked up from his work to the game on screen, to find six blocks in sets of three lined up next to each other. “Hmm. The rest of the castle is sandstone, right?”

“Indeed.”

“I’d go with the sandstone-spruce-quartz combo and liven it up with a colored wool or something. Maybe a blue?”

“Brilliant.” Atem looked almost proud of him. “You say you have no eye for artistry, but I beg to differ.”

“It’s because I’ve played _way_ too much of this game.”

“That has nothing to do with what I said.”

Yugi shrugged, returning to his reports. “I just know the blocks. I’m way better at Redstone builds than creative builds, though.”

“Still avoiding the compliment, are we?”

He glared across the seat cushion, meeting a chastising look from the ghost.

“I’m not avoiding it,” he insisted.

“You are.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Should I repeat myself?”

“You have to be nice to me, my arm is broken.”

Yugi waved his cast in the air, now decorated all over in different colored pens, sporting long twisting vines, different kinds of flowers in various stages of blooming, and a pretty white dove perched on the branch of a tree. It had taken several days – and more than a few drug-induced midday naps on Yugi’s part – but Atem finally declared the wearable art project, “finished,” when he squeezed the bird onto the largest part of the cast, near the elbow.

The ghost snorted, shaking his head. “You are impossible.”

“No, I’m in _pain_.”

“Just take the compliment, Yugi.”

“ _Fine_. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome.”

He returned to placing blocks with more smugness than he had any right to have. Yugi scrunched up his nose in a dramatic angry face in his general direction before going back to his own tasks.

Atem had been doing that a lot more lately – calling Yugi out when he tried to deflect compliments or try and counter them with praise of his own. He offered no explanation for it, and even maintained that he had _absolutely_ _no idea_ what Yugi was talking about whenever he’d brought it up. And he didn’t even bring it up for a _bad_ reason. He was only curious about this sudden new interest in his self-worth. Still, there was apparently nothing to disclose on the matter. He didn’t buy it for a second, but he couldn’t seem to come up with a way to explain it to himself either. He let it slide, for the most part. It wasn’t like he didn’t have bigger things to worry about.

Even in the few days since the rift between them had been patched, Yugi’s continued friendship with Atem was already irking a particular someone downstairs. The vision-inflicted bruises, now a sickly-yellow green in the healing process, itched every time he had to venture downstairs, like reminders. Like promises.

Yugi was treading the stairs carefully after his fall – doubly so now that he knew Hazim was out and about. He almost wanted to test to see if the journal was his “carrying case,” like the crown was for Atem, and then take it _very, very_ far away. The only thing stopping him was the fact that  it was Fukuyama’s, technically. Something as unique as a leather-bound journal wouldn’t go unnoticed if he decided to go downtown and chuck it off the pier one day. For now, he just had to deal with it.

He _and_ Atem would have to deal with it, because Hazim was multi-tasking in his aggression. There was no physical damage, obviously, but Atem had more than once come out of his crown in the morning with a lingering exhaustion that Yugi had never seen him wear.

One thing that came with knowing all of the ghostly secrets was that Atem would now explain what it meant for one ghost to kill another – or try. And it was _bad_. Being erased from existence, painfully, piece by piece, until the soul was scattered so far across the mortal plane that it would never be able to stitch itself back together. At that point, the consciousness would shut down. The person wouldn’t be “dead,” a second time, but it would be remarkably similar. When asked how, exactly, Atem _knew_ this information, his only answer was _It was hard for me to discriminate between friend and foe, once_.

And Yugi was suddenly glad he’d caught Atem in a good mood on day one.

“Oh, they finally fixed the UI bug,” he said. Out loud, because sometimes Atem liked to have things about video games explained to him in detail. He liked a lot of weird things.

“What was the issue?” the ghost asked.

“Something about the flavor text bleeding over into the next item when you opened a description for a different one. They had it on the backburner for so long, I thought they weren’t ever going to fix it.”

“I see. Also, what is a UI?”

“Unicorn Intervention.” It was hard to keep a straight face, but he managed.

Atem, on the other hand, paused his game to send a world-weary look across the couch. “I _beg_ you to remember that I am over two-hundred years old and not, in fact, born yesterday.”

Yugi snickered behind his cast. “Alright, sheesh. It stands for User Interface.”

“ _Thank_ you.” He unpaused the game.

“You’re _welcome_.”

Yugi went back to his reports, looking at the before and after screenshots of the UI that the designer had helpfully provided. It looked _a lot_ better, and he was very glad that he’d gotten someone to send him updates. He would have been panicking about little changes like these until he collapsed if he didn’t know if they were fixed.

 _Note to self_ , he thought, _buy Aikawa lunch when I get back_.

“How do you know when a game is finished?” Atem asked.

He huffed a little. “When the release date comes around.”

“Really?”

“Yep. The game has to be done by then, or it’s just unfinished at release. Which sucks, but that’s why there’s crunch time. So that _doesn’t_ happen.”

“That sounds dreadful.”

“It’s not that bad, really. As long as everyone’s doing their jobs, the game is finished and polished and ready for physical and digital shelves.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Multiple artists painting on a single canvas.”

“Sure, if you want to think about it like that.” Yugi tilted the lid of his laptop down a bit – he wasn’t reading the report right now, anyway. “When do you know a _drawing_ is finished?”

“Oh, none of my pieces are finished.”

He blinked. “What?”

Atem shrugged his ghostly shoulders. “An artist’s work is never ended. Only postponed indefinitely.”

“You _never_ finish _anything_?”

“Perhaps I misspoke.”

Once again, the building of the terrace was paused. Atem set his controller to the side and hopped a half-cushion closer to Yugi. He picked up the decorated cast and gestured at the detailed plants and the lone dove.

“This is _completed_ ,” he said, “but it is not _done_.”

“I don’t get it.”

He pointed out one of the vines, done in a thin green ink. “This line here? I could have made it smoother.” He picked out a half-blooming pink chrysanthemum. “The petals here could be sharper, more defined.” He ran his finger down the dove’s black outline. “It has been a long time since I have drawn detailed feathers. My style is clearly stale in this area.” He half-smiled. “It is not done. It will _never_ be done. But I can do nothing more with it, so it is complete. I must simply move on to the next piece and try again.”

“But it’s all _stunning_.” Yugi picked up his arm and held it out in admiration as best he could when it was locked in one position. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever worn, and it isn’t even _clothes_.”

Atem pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head. "I am happy you think so."

"Come on, you can't tell me you don't like it."

"I do not _dislike_ it. I simply know there are ways it could be improved."

"You can say that about _anything_."

"Indeed, I can, but I recognize the ways clearest in my own work." He ran his hand down the length of the cast again "Even so, I do believe it is one of my finest pieces. And _that_ —" he said, waggling a finger in Yugi's face, "—is how you accept a compliment."

Yugi brushed the finger away and rolled his eyes. "Are you ever going to let up on that?"

The ghost floated back to his controller. "Not presently, no."

"Figures."

He went back to reading, but not for long. The laptop was forgotten within minutes, because watching a castle be built up slowly, block by block, just on the edge of his vision proved to be more interesting than bug reports.

“Get some terracotta in there,” he said. “The designs are so cool.”

Atem considered this, squinting at his progress so far. “Would it not be too distracting? The walls are already rather busy.”

“You could replace the wool.”

“But I like the wool.”

“Come on, just try it.”

Atem continued to place the wool and sandstone in an alternating pattern. “When you build your own castle, you may cover it head to toe in gaudy designs.”

“As if this _isn’t_ gaudy.”

“I believe the word is _tasteful_.”

Yugi pretended to gag himself, and earned a playful shove. He fell over onto his side, dramatically clutching his cast. “Oh _no_! I’m in _so_ much _pain_!”

“Deservedly so.”

He gasped. “I guess _somebody_ doesn’t want to pick the movie tonight.”

False rivalry forgotten, Atem rose an extra two inches off the couch in excitement, bouncing on nothing. “I nearly forgot it was Friday. What have we not crossed off the list yet?”

Yugi dragged himself to a standing position. “I’ll just go get it.”

And so he did, making the short trek to the kitchen to search for their list on the fridge, hidden among all the other notes and scoreboards and ongoing paper games pinned up by magnets. Yugi frowned at an unfinished game of hangman, picking up a nearby pen off the counter. They always kept one close to the fridge for their games.

“Does your word have an ‘X’ in it?” he called.

“Not _even_ close,” Atem replied, almost laughing,

“Dammit.”

He awkwardly drew a second leg onto the armless body of his losing game with his left hand. Banning French and Arabic words had not helped his score, and breaking his dominant arm hadn’t helped his non-existent drawing skills. He made another move in their game of Ultimate Tic-Tac-Toe, too. Just for kicks.

Eventually, he picked out the long-ish sheet of paper labelled _Movies Atem Still Hasn’t Seen_ – right next to the _Games Atem Still Hasn’t Played_ list – from the dozens of scraps, and brought it back to the living room. He flopped on the couch and held it between them.

“Ta-da,” he announced, waving the paper around. “Movies.”

Atem paused his building and ran his transparent finger down the list. A lot of the titles had been crossed off, but the newest additions near the bottom got interesting. They had a lot to catch up on, too.  

“ _Grave of the Fireflies_?”

Yugi closed his eyes and shook his head. “Too sad, pass.”

“Sad?”

He looked at the ghost, deadly serious. “Don’t pick this movie unless you want to see me cry like a baby.”

Atem balked at that, and his finger skipped down. “I am not sure I will _ever_ be seeing it then.”

“What?”

“Why on Earth would I want to see you cry?”

He said it as if it was an obvious fact of life, but Yugi was taken aback. “I didn’t mean it _literally_. It’s just a really sad movie.”

“Regardless, I would rather not watch it.”

“Alright then.”

He let Atem ponder the list in silence, because _that_ was weird. He’d expected the ghost to at least _pretend_ to pick it to tease him about it, not reject the idea outright. Just because he said he’d cry…

“What about _Rashomon_?”

Yugi snapped back to attention. “Oh, that movie’s great. I think you’d like it.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s the story of a murder told from different people’s perspectives.”

The ghost gave him a withering look. “A bit on the nose, hm?”

“How is it—? Oh.”

“Did you _forget_?”

For a moment, yes. Would he admit that? Never. “Look, I _promise_ that’s not the reason you’ll like it—”

“Does there happen to be a _ghost_ involved as well?”

Yugi narrowed his eyes. “Lucky guess.”

He crossed his arms in defiance. “You cannot be serious—”

“It’s a good movie! A classic!”

“Certainly.”

“Do you want to watch it or not?”

Atem lifted an eyebrow at the list and hummed in a way that Yugi _knew_ meant he was pretending to think, just for the “joy” of dragging out an answer. He waggled the paper impatiently.

“Come on, make up your mind so I can decide what to do for dinner.”

“We both know you will _not_ be cooking tonight.”

It was true. Cooking had been difficult with one arm in a cast and the other covered in gauze, and Yugi had been avoiding anything harder than using the microwave lately. “But I still have to decide where I’m ordering out from, so pick a movie before I pick one for you.”

“Well, I _suppose_ if you think so highly of its content—”

“Shut up.”

“—we can watch _Rashomon_.”

Yugi stood up, gesturing with the list. “Was that so hard?”

Atem continued with his game. “Agonizing, in fact.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You are easily riled.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you very much are.”

“ _No_ , I’m—”

He stopped talking at the sly look the ghost was giving him. Bait and switch.

Yugi retaliated by sticking his tongue out as he marched away, the silver ball of his piercing clacking against his teeth. He’d started wearing it around the house for a sense of familiarity. That, and he hadn’t been able to take it out without some level of difficulty.

It had very _little_ to do with Atem’s suggestion that he leave it in because, “it becomes you.”

It was the last thing on his mind, honestly.

He returned the list to its home on the fridge, trading it out for the stack of take-out menus he’d collected in his time living as a human being in a populated city. They were an inevitability of life. He’d learned to embrace it.

They’d come in handy this week, too, but flipping through the stack, he felt like doing something arguably even _lazier_ than ordering a full meal that he had to go _pick up_. He wasn’t feeling like walking all the way somewhere in the steadily chilling air, as summer transformed to autumn. He couldn’t drive due to both arms in varying states of “not working.” Besides, who doesn’t like pizza and a movie?   

He returned to the couch empty handed and pulled up the website for the nearest pizza place. The air around him grew cold as Atem looked over his shoulder.

“You know that is not good for you,” he chided.

“Nothing I can have delivered directly to my house is ‘good for me,’” Yugi countered. “And since when did you become a health nut?”

“Every time you eat pizza, you _say_ how it bad it is for you. But you eat it anyway.”

“Because it’s _amazing_.”

“I cannot attest to that.”

Yugi pretended to sob. “Don’t remind me.”

“Is it _really_ worthy of such theatrics?”

“That you’ve never had pizza? Yes. That sentence alone is a horror story.”

“Might you be exaggerating a little?”

“No way. Pizza is _literally_ heaven.”

Atem pulled back with a snort. “If I get there, I will be sure to make the comparison.”

Yugi paused with his cursor right above the “place order” button. “What do you mean ‘if’?”

Surprisingly adjusted, he replied, “I have been prevented from passing on for this long. It is not impossible to think I might never achieve it.”

Yugi didn’t really know what to think about that. On the one hand, he didn’t want Atem to be stuck wandering the world forever, constantly fighting with Hazim and the curse and his own mistakes. He deserved to be at peace. At the same time, the thought of him gone brought a sour taste to his mouth. He _liked_ having a haunted house, as weird as that was. An empty house would just be… wrong.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Atem glanced away from his game. “It is not your fault I am still here, if that is your concern.”

He knew – the ghost had explained it. And Yugi agreed that having a constant reminder of who and why he was dead would probably anger him enough to want to stick around in the mortal world as well. Knowing it was his own fault would have made it even harder.

“Your whole situation,” he said, “really sucks. And I wish I could help.”

“You _are_ helping.”

Yugi knew exactly the answer he would get if he asked how, so instead he countered with, “I mean help in a more direct way. Like getting Hazim off your back. Or breaking the curse somehow.”

Atem tensed. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen when he said, “You are kind to say so, but there is nothing to be done.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying.”

“Good.” The transparent body relaxed a fraction. “I would not want you to worry yourself over such a thing.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not.” Well, he hadn’t been worried about it until _now_.

“Good.”

Somehow, Yugi got the feeling that it wasn’t as good as Atem made it out to be, but he let it go. There were some questions he just had to accept would never be answered.

 

 

“But how can we know which story is true?”

Yugi shushed him, reaching into the half-empty pizza box again. “That’s the point of the movie.”

“They are all so self-serving,” Atem continued, muttering under his breath. He was promptly shushed again.

The black-and-white picture played out, the woodcutter, priest, and commoner all sitting under the Rashōmon gate in the pouring rain. They discussed the aftermath of the trial, the three conflicting stories of the outlaw Tajōmaru, the spirit of the samurai, and the samurai’s wife stumping the lot of them. Until—

Atem gasped. “The _woodcutter_ knows the truth?”

“Are you going to watch the movie?”

“I _am_ watching the movie.”

To be fair, Yugi hadn’t seen Atem take his eyes off the screen since he pressed play. At least he was enjoying it, as predicted. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for putting on the list.

He inhaled another slice of pizza, his attention divided between watching the movie and the expressions of the ghost next to him. He’d seen _Rashomon_ at least a dozen times, just like most of the others he’d recommended they watch. While the movies _were_ good, the _real_ fun was in the reactions, and tonight had given him a veritable gold mine.

“He refused to testify because did not want to be _involved_?” Atem repeated, incredulous. “He is already _involved_.”

For what felt like the fiftieth time, Yugi shushed him. The ghost mockingly shushed him back, narrowing his eyes and scrunching his nose in an exaggerated frown. Yugi made a mental note of the expression so he could file it away in the folder titled _Blackmail Material_. Though it would be a much easier thing to blackmail with if he could take a _picture_.

As the woodcutter on the screen divulged in the (supposedly) true story, Yugi went for another slice of pizza, but paused at his phone lying face-down on the table. He still hadn’t ever _tried_ to take a picture. Ghosts had a nasty reputation of not showing up on camera, so there wasn’t a guarantee it would even work. But a lot of ghostly stereotypes had been disproven this far. Who’s to say that cameras weren’t _another_ misunderstanding?

He glanced at Atem in his peripheral vision. He sat on the edge of the cushion, enthralled in the story unravelling on screen. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

Yugi picked up his phone instead of the food, trying to hide it with his hands to avoid being caught violating movie night’s “no phones” rule he’d ironically set for _himself_. He sat back as casually as possible, hands and secret mission folded in his lap politely. He stared ahead at the movie, but his real focus was on the back of one ghostly head.

Like a high schooler trying to read texts in class, Yugi looked down at his phone, shading the brightness with his casted hand, and fumbling it open to the camera app with his left. He made sure the flash was off, angled the lens to face the oblivious Atem, the ghost gasping at the samurai’s wife revealing her treachery. Yugi snapped the picture.

Through the camera, the transparent body was hardly visible. It flared and blurred at the edges, turning into a messy blob like he had taken a picture of a lightbulb or the moon. The things in the _background_ were more visible than the ghost. But he wasn’t about to give up just yet.

Yugi never thought he would ever have to use the “skills” he and Ryuji had “learned,” one late night. They were more than a little buzzed, and decided that was the best state to be in to learn how to take better selfies. Somehow, he remembered reading an article about exposure, the speed of the camera’s shutter, and how exactly to adjust those settings to reflect the kind of picture he wanted to take. Back then, it had been wondering how to have his back facing a light source without turning into an evil shadow. Now, it was for something just as important. Which wasn’t saying much.

As best he could manage with his dominant hand out of commission, Yugi flipped, increased, and decreased settings, watching the screen change. When everything looked as good as he could get, he snapped a second photo as the clumsy battle took place on screen. He _grinned_ at the result.

It was still hard to see, but now there was a hard outline where a ghost _was_ and where a ghost _wasn’t_. Like the surface of water, Atem’s body put a strange whiteish filter over everything in front of it, his own features blurry and smudged. Just to experiment, Yugi bumped up the contrast, and marveled  as the ghost’s body came into sharp relief.

Had he just figured out how to take a _good picture_ of a ghost in less than five minutes?

Had he figured out how to take good _blackmail_ pictures in less than five minutes?

Newfound powers threatening to go to his head, Yugi turned his phone off and went back to pretending to watch the movie. All he had to do was wait for a good moment. Luckily enough, one was coming up soon, as the movie drew to a close. The only thing left to do was get the right angle for his master plan.

“What a dreadful affair,” Atem said, under his breath and probably not expecting a response.

Yugi answered anyway, shifting forward in his seat. “Well, it _was_ an assault and a murder.”

“Not only that. The fact that no one present was willing to speak truthfully to solve a horrible crime is appalling. Even the dead man, who had nothing to lose, cared only for his own honor.”

“ _You’re_ dead, and I’d say you’ve got quite a bit to lose.”

“I am suspending my disbelief.”

The conversation ended there as a baby’s cry interrupted the three men’s conversation at the Rashōmon gate. Yugi readied his phone’s camera again, hiding it behind his cast. The moment had almost arrived.

Concentration divided, Yugi heard rather than saw the commoner steal the kimono and amulet left with the abandoned infant, the scolding thereafter, and the reveal that the truth about the woodcutter not speaking up at the trial is because _he_ was the one who stole the wife’s missing dagger.

Atem was surprised, but not blackmail-worthy surprised. Yugi bided his time. There was still one _last_ moment that might make for a decent extortion material. The moment that turned the whole movie around the first time he’d seen it.

The priest waddled off with the crying baby, only to be chased by the woodcutter. After a brief misunderstanding, the woodcutter revealed yet _another_ secret.

“I have six kids of my own,” said the actor on screen, voice wavering with emotion. “Another one wouldn’t make a difference.”

There. Perfect.

At the woodcutter’s words, the suspicion in the priest melted away, and so did any sharpness in Atem’s face. A ghostly hand fluttered to his chest, his eyes full and sympathetic, mouth rounded in a tiny _oh_. It was disgustingly sappy and exactly the kind of thing Yugi was looking for.

He unveiled his phone lightning fast, mashing the button to catch the fleeting moment, drawing it back just as quickly to prevent being spotted. He had a private moment of triumph as he messed with the contrast to bring the image to its full potential.

There wasn’t anything left of the movie to see, just the priest and the woodcutter going their separate ways. So Yugi felt it was worth it to tap Atem on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, turning his phone around with the picture facing out. “Look.”

Atem turned at him expectantly, then squinted at the phone when he realized that’s what he was supposed to be looking at. “What? What is…”

As he stared at the picture, both his eyebrows and the corners of his lips tipped steadily downward. This was diametrically opposed to Yugi, who watched the ghost’s indignance appear with exponentially growing _delight._

“Admit it’s cool,” he said.

Atem slid his gaze evenly from the photo to the photographer. “Give me the phone, Yugi.”

“Hm, let me think about—No.” Yugi pulled his phone into his chest to protect it.

He put out his hand. “ _Give_ me the _phone_.”

“Nope.”

Atem relaxed back to how he’d been sitting to watch the movie. “Alright, I suppose I—”

He cut himself of and lunged across the couch. Yugi shot out of his seat just in time, holding his phone high above his head, and watched ghost snatch at the empty air.

“Ha-ha,” he sang, backing a few steps away.

“Why so suspicious?” Atem asked, deceptively innocent. “I only wanted to—”

“To snap it over your knee, yeah, I got it.”

“As if I could even do such a thing.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“Just let me _see_ it.” Atem rose from the couch and whisked over to Yugi, who ducked out of the way again.

“No way.” He curled into his chest with his arms secured tightly across his precious cargo. “I’m not letting you delete this.”

“’Let me’ is an interesting phrase.”

Yugi dodged another swipe at his arms. “Come on, you’ve got like a hundred million pictures of _me_.”

Atem paused in his pursuit to fold his own arms. “This is _entirely_ different.”

“How?”

“You are _aware_ of me when I sketch you, for a start—”

Yugi interrupted him with a snort. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am!”

He raised his brows. “ _Every_ time?”

The ghost opened his mouth, then closed it. He sputtered furiously. “I never—You—It is still different.”

Yugi cupped a hand around his ear. “I’m listening.”

“Because,” Atem began confidently, and never finished. Yugi could almost hear the comparisons being drawn in his mind, arguments forming and just as quickly being thrown out.

“It’s pretty much exactly the same,” he said, as if it needed any further confirmation. “I’ve only had the one picture of you until now, and how _else_ am I supposed to remember you when—”

Yugi surprised himself with that one. He pulled his phone out from his chest to stare down at the candid picture of the ghost. He’d never really thought about it before but…

Atem looked just as startled as he felt, but it was smoothed over by a patient smile. “I suppose for posterity’s sake,” he said, “I can let you take a few. But you will have to do a better job than _that_.”

Yugi looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Atem floated closer, gesturing to the picture. “You can hardly see me.”

“I was trying to be sneaky.”

“You sacrificed your _composition_. A terrible trade-off.”

“And since when did you become a photography expert Mister ‘What’s A Microwave’?”

“Like you said – photography is not much different from portrait art.”

“But I don’t think the cameras _you_ know about could do _this_.”

With a few quick taps, Yugi brought back the camera and flipped it around so his own face was on display. He stretched his arm out so they were both in frame. The light from Atem’s form bloomed a cold white in the lens before settling down to focus in on the undead face. It blurred as he moved his head from side to side, as if to make sure it was really him.

“No,” he said, “our cameras could not do that.”

Yugi double checked his settings. “It can do all sorts of cooler things, but I’ll keep it basic for tonight. I don’t even know if the filters would pick up your face.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out. Smile!”

He snapped the picture a half-second after throwing up a peace sign and flashing his best camera-ready grin.

Atem wasn’t so prepared. His head was half turned, staring at the camera like he was waiting for it to answer a question.

Yugi bit his tongue and tried not to laugh. “We’ll work on your timing.”

And the thought of getting to work on it made him happier than a hundred shitty pictures could.

 

 

“Are there any black wires?’”

Yugi bounced his outstretched legs under the coffee table, fingers poised over his phone to keep his place in the _Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes_ manual. The TV was at his back, as he wasn’t allowed to look at the bomb. Instead, he watched anxiously on as Atem – on the couch – searched with intensity, controller gripped in his transparent hands.

“I do not see any,” he said.

“No blacks.” He scanned the instructional PDF as fast as he could. “Okay, cut the second wire.”

There was a tense pause. “Done. Next module—”

“Don’t forget to—”

“I am, I am.”

As Atem reset the Needy Module capacitor, Yugi quickly glanced at the bandages on his freshly un-sewn hand – as of ten in the morning that same day. He still had to take it easy so he wouldn’t tear it open again, which meant no white-knuckling game controllers. His cast would have made it difficult enough anyway, so he accepted his role as the Expert for the afternoon.

“Maze,” Atem said.

“Maze,” Yugi repeated, scrolling through the pages to find the instructions. “Positions?”

“The first circle is first row down, second across. The second circle is last row down, third across. The triangle is—” he paused to count under his breath “—fourth row down, third across.”

“Where’s your light?”

“The very top right.”

Yugi picked out the picture from the list. “Okay, move two left, one down.”

“Two left, one down.”

“Two right, one down, two left.”

Atem repeated the pattern back.

“One down, one left.”

“Done!” The game confirmed the outcome with a celebratory chime.

Yugi whirled around in his seat. “Time?”

“Seventeen seconds.”

Again, the game confirmed it, with a big blue “DEFUSED” stamp, writing up their remaining few seconds in a typewriter font. Yugi finally let himself relax, letting out all the built-up adrenaline in a big rush of air, and scribbling down the result – _Game #21 - Defused - 0:17 –_ on the sticky-note he’d been keeping nearby for that exact purpose.

“That was so close,” he breathed.

“I thought the Morse code would be the end of it for sure.”

“I can’t believe you died just in time to miss Morse code.”

“I cannot believe _you_ know it.”

He turned back around and stretched his stiff arms over the table, as best he could with the cast. “I learned it for fun in high school.”

Atem had the controller tucked into his lap, hands resting on his knees. “A strange thing to learn for _fun_.”

“You know I’m a massive nerd.”

“So you have told me, but I am still unclear on what it means.”

Yugi put his chin in his unbound arm. “How many times have I explained it?”

“From what I gather, it means you _enjoy_ _things_.”

“Close enough.”

“But _everyone_ enjoys things.”

“It’s about _how_ you enjoy things. Like if you enjoy them so much it’s all you talk about.”

Atem put out his hands helplessly. “Again, is that not _everybody_ , to a certain extent? We all have things we can talk endlessly about.”

Yugi stared for a few seconds. ”You would totally be a nerd if you were alive.”

“The same as everybody else!”

“Just start the next round, _nerd_.”

He scoffed, but picked up the controller again. “You make it sound like an insult.”

“It’s an insulting term of endearment.”

“In that case, you flatter me.”

Yugi laughed and he didn’t even really know why. “In that case, you’re welcome.”

Atem prepared the next level, and as Yugi’s laughed settled down to a smile he discovered the reason for it: He was happy.

That was really all it was. He was happy enough to forget he had a broken arm. Happy enough to forget about work the next day. Happy enough to completely lose track of how long he’d been sitting there. He was too busy having a good time, playing a ridiculous game about complicated bombs with the ghost that haunted his apartment. It was that simple.

“Thank you,” he said, because he felt like he should say it.

“For what?” Atem asked.

“I don’t know. For hanging out with me, I guess.”

“It is not as if I have anywhere else to be.”

“But you also don’t _have_ to hang out so much. You could be invisible or sketch the day away or hide in your crown or whatever else you do.” He picked up his cast off the table. “You didn’t have to do this either.”

“I do all of these things because I _want_ to, Yugi.”

“And I’m letting you know I appreciate it – I appreciate _you_.”

Atem grew a shy smile, flicking the dual sticks of the controller idly. “I appreciate you as well. And… it is hard to image a place I would rather be, other than here.”

Now it was Yugi’s turn to get shy. “Thank you. Again, I guess.”

Three loud raps at the door split the conversation in two.

“Were you expecting anybody today?” Atem muttered, low enough that the person outside couldn’t hear him.

“Not at all,” Yugi said, just as quiet.

They glanced at each other. Yugi stood up and made a short cutting motion across his neck. Atem nodded, popping out of the world without leaving a trace. The game controller plopped on the cushion as if it had been there the whole time.

Yugi went to the door, bracing himself. He knew firsthand that Hazim had no qualms about possessing people, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down – not when he wasn’t expecting anybody. He didn’t know how low Hazim would stoop, either, or what would happen if he got desperate.

A cold presence appeared at his back, and he nodded over his shoulder. They were just going to have to hope for the best.

He pulled the door open to reveal—

“Ryou?”

Sure enough, it was Ryou, standing, inexplicably, on the front porch.

“Hi, Yugi!”

 “Hey,” he blurted. “What, uh. What’s up?”

Ryou shrugged, paired with a friendly smile. “I thought I’d stop by and see how you were holding up. Having a broken arm by yourself can’t be easy.”

Yugi stepped out a little bit form where he’d partially hidden himself behind the door. “It’s not amazing, but I’ve been alright. You don’t have t—”

Ryou gasped. “What is that?”

He froze, straining to see or feel any kind of ghostly presence. “What’s what?”

“Your cast is _beautiful_.”

Yugi looked at his arm and nearly sagged in relief. “Oh, yeah.” He opened the door wider, waving in his friend. “Come on in, we can catch up while you’re here.”

Ryou stepped in, Yugi shutting the door behind him. It was a little unexpected, but he was always happy to spend some time with his friends. They hardly had time to see each other, so this would be a nice impromptu visit. He’d have to keep his eye out for Hazim, but other than that, he didn’t have anything to worry about!

Atem yanked on one of his sleeves like an impatient toddler. Yugi shrugged him off, but the tug only got more insistent.

“What?” he whispered through his teeth. Atem moved his head so it was staring at the other end of the room. He didn’t see anything, just the dinner table and the…

His blood ran cold.

The sketchbook. _Atem’s_ sketchbook. Yugi was _terrible_ at drawing, and all of his friends knew it. Not to mention how he was supposed to explain all the drawings of _himself_ in there.

And _Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes_ was still open and waiting on the TV. A strictly two-player game, impossible for someone who lived _alone_ to be playing.

And all the notes on the fridge. The lists that mentioned Atem _by name_. The games they played – also two-player. The loose sketches the ghost doodled on random pieces of paper when he was bored (often). The reminders for whose turn it was to sweep the house. All the other evidence that had since piled up that Yugi _wasn’t_ living by himself.

“Can I see it?” Ryou asked. “The cast?”

Yugi jerked himself away from the door, forcing a smile as he held out his arm. “Sure!”

Ryou raised his hands to support the cast while he took a closer look. “This is incredible. Who drew it all?”

He raced through his mind for a plausible explanation. “Oh. The… artists at work got a hold of me. You know how those types are.”

A cold hand drummed its fingers on his shoulder, as if to ask _No, what_ are _“those types” like_? He almost shook the ghost’s hand off him, but cut the impulse when the sketchbook caught his peripheral vision again. They needed to work together on this. But how were they supposed to clean up without looking suspicious?

“That’s right,” Ryou said, continuing the conversation, “you went back to work last week.”

Yugi nodded to make up for the fact that he definitely hadn’t been paying attention. “Sure did.”

“Is everything going smoothly?”

“The week off definitely helped, but my desk got hijacked by _sketchbooks and stuff_ —” he prayed Atem would get the message “—while I was away. I’ve been trying to _get rid of it all_.”

Ryou dropped his hands from the cast. “That’s odd.”

A wave of relief swept through him at the same time a cold rush of air pushed away. “Like I said – artists.”

Yugi used his now-freed arm to lead his friend by the shoulder, facing them the opposite direction of the table where the sketchbook was now certainly floating in the air by itself. He didn’t want to look.

“So,” he said, stopping in front of the TV so he blocked the screen, “what’s been going on with you?”

“Not much,” Ryou admitted. “Classes and work have been taking up most of my time.”

Yugi nodded sympathetically, at the same time using his foot to grope for the TV’s power button. “I feel you on that work thing. Juggling that and a master’s must be difficult.”

“It’s a lot sometimes.”

TV off. Mission accomplished. Now that the coast was clear, he ushered them to the couch so they could sit. “That can’t be _all_ you’ve done since we’ve seen each other. What else have you been up to?”

They made small talk, Ryou discussing the little things that happened in the moments he could breathe between working and his studies, Yugi patching together stories about how his week “alone,” with a broken arm had been. Trying to explain how he had taken showers when he wasn’t allowed to get _either_ of his hands wet was certainly something. In reality, he’d just bent his head over the bathroom sink and let Atem do the rest, but he made up something about wrapping it all in plastic bags to protect them. It was plausible enough.

All the while, he sent hidden messages to Atem to take care of one thing or another – “It’s colder than a _fridge_ in the studio.” “I need a _scoreboard_ at this point.” “They keep leaving _random drawings_ in the meeting rooms.” The ghost periodically hung outside of Ryou’s line of sight, waving around whatever he had picked up in a silent question. To answer, Yugi had to quickly come up with a sentence that would make sense for him to say out loud, in context, to tell him where to put it all. He was having three conversations at once – one with Ryou, one with Atem, and one with himself. The one with himself consisted entirely of panicked screaming.

On the bright side, he wasn’t worrying about Hazim.

It didn’t take long for Yugi to exhaust the list of things for Atem to hide, and he could finally devote his _full_ attention to the conversation with Ryou. And they were finally talking about something he didn’t have to make excuses for.

“My pitch is this week,” he said, practically gushing. “I’m so excited, I’ve had this game idea since I was a teenager and now I might actually get to _make_ it.”

“That’s so exciting!” Ryou said.

“And I’ve already improved on it so much, just since I started the pitch document and mock-up. I’m just—” Words failed him, and he resorted to waving his hands around in the air instead.

“I hope it all goes well for you.”

“Me too. I think they’re getting the CEO of the company to come down, too, so I’ve _really_ got to be on my best game.” He lifted his cast, smiling wryly. “Hopefully they don’t mind this.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand. It’s not as though you did it on purpose.”

“I was talking about the _drawings_.”

“Why wouldn’t they be okay with them?”

“Aren’t they a little distracting?”

Ryou considered this, frowning thoughtfully as he looked Yugi over. “Not to me, no.”

“But you’ve _seen_ it already. I don’t want a room full of suits staring at my arm instead of listening to me because they—” he picked out a stalk of lavender, standing tall behind the trumpet of a Calla lily “—I don’t know, like flowers.”

“Why don’t you practice the presentation, then? I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Yugi brushed the idea out of the air. “Nah, I haven’t finished polishing it yet.”

“Just show me what you have.”

He couldn’t deny that he’d been dying to show off everything he’d done. Even if it wasn’t perfect, practice would only help, right?

“Alright, sure,” he conceded, hopping up from the couch.

Ryou stood with him. “I’m going to get something to drink really fast.”

“Be my guest.”

They went their separate directions, Ryou laughed as he passed the threshold into the kitchen. “I forgot you put this here.”

Yugi paused in the hall, and saw his friend gesturing at the legendary Ouija board, stuck up on the wall with the planchette hanging from a hook above it. He laughed right back. “Every day I’m reminded of how hilarious I am.”

“The ‘ghost’ hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has it?”

Yugi laughed again, because Ryou’s question was the punchline to a joke he’d never hear. “Nope. No trouble at all.” He continued down the hall, as a particularly friendly gust of wind tousled his hair. “Nothing I can’t handle, anyway,” he added under his breath, loud enough for a certain someone to hear.

“And glad I am to hear it,” Atem said, keeping his voice as low as possible.

“I never said you _weren’t_ a handful.”

“Ouch.”

Yugi stifled another laugh as he pulled the door to his room open. He didn’t want Ryou to think he’d lost it, talking to himself when he thought no one was looking. Or that there really _was_ a ghost in his house. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

He gathered up his laptop and USB drive that held all his important pitch-related information, and decided _definitely_ the ghost. If Ryou thought he was crazy, that was fine. If Ryou thought he was _haunted_ , he would not rest until he performed a full-on exorcism, and purified the entire house. Regardless of whether or not it would work, Yugi _really_ didn’t need that kind of stress. And he didn’t need anyone else meeting Hazim either.

“Who’s _that_?” Ryou asked, suddenly in the room with him.

“What are you—” Yugi started, then the rest of his sentence got caught in his throat when he turned around.

Ryou had a glass of water in one hand and a picture frame in the other. A picture frame that _belonged_ on the shelf above him. Yugi found himself unable to move as he watched his friend scan over Atem’s daguerreotype.

“Who’s this?” Ryou repeated, turning the frame around.

Yugi glanced between his friend and the black and white photo of the ghost that haunted his apartment. “It’s… whoever owned that crown. Remember?”

He nodded up at the shelf. “I assumed as much from what he’s wearing. But who _is_ it?”

“I don’t know.” He might have said that a little too fast.

Ryou smiled, disbelieving. “Come on, you have the picture in a frame. You’ve got to at least know a _bit_ about who he is.”

In the most unhelpful move of all time, Atem appeared behind Ryou in his physical form and shrugged.

 _Thanks_ , Yugi thought, hoping his sarcasm would transcend the need for communication. To Ryou he said, “I found the picture downstairs when I went to pay rent a while ago. My landlord let me keep it.” _He also doesn’t know I have it_.

“Did he know who it was?”

“It doesn’t have a name on it or anything.” _Not in a language you can read, anyway._ “It’s just some guy, I guess.”

Still partially visible, Atem crossed his arms with a disapproving look. Yugi kept his face completely neutral when he added, “Whoever he is, he looks like kind of an asshole.”

Atem dropped his jaw and planted his hands on his hips in a dramatic display of being offended.

Ryou snorted, looking over the picture again. “Maybe a little.”

It took every inch of Yugi’s willpower not to laugh when Atem threw out his arms, mouthing an insulted _Excuse me?_

“The presentation’s not going to practice itself,” Yugi said, hefting his technology.

“Right, right.” He reached back up to the shelf, placing the picture frame back where it belonged, in the center of the crown.

Atem disappeared just in time for Ryou to turn around and walk out of the room, Yugi close behind. A cold hand brushed the away the hair from one of his ears.

“That was _quite_ rude,” the ghost whispered.

“Did you say something?” Yugi asked, presumably to Ryou.

“No, nothing.”

“Must have been my imagination then.” Atem pulled on his bangs and he swatted the air at his side, folding his lips together in an attempt to hide his smile.

Back in the living room, Yugi set up his laptop on the coffee table and pulled up the presentation, complete with a rudimentary mock-up of the gameplay.

“Obviously,” he said, kneeling on the floor so he could change the slides, “if this were the real presentation, I’d have the pitch document printed out for you to look at, so just pretend.”

Ryou lifted an invisible stack of papers in the hand without his glass. “All set. Lay it on me.”

For the first time Yugi had ever practiced his presentation in full, it didn’t end up being half-bad. He knew what he was talking about, and knowing that Ryou _didn’t_ know what he was talking about made it a lot easier. He didn’t have to be afraid to mess up if his “audience” didn’t know what messing up looked like.

One thing that _didn’t_ help was Atem – visible, for some reason – floating neat the top of the couch, observing his rehearsal with such intensity Yugi could almost hear him taking notes in his head. He would mouth _Sit up_ at regular intervals, straightening his own posture to demonstrate, and keeping a score of how many times Yugi said “um,” by marking an invisible tally on the fabric of the couch. Yugi hoped that his constant looks over Ryou’s shoulder would be mistaken for performance anxiety.

He cut off the presentation when he got to the last few slides. “I haven’t totally worked these out yet,” he explained, “but it’s going to be boring corporate stuff, so you probably wouldn’t want to hear it anyway.”

“I’ll just look fascinated,” Ryou said. “We can pretend.”

He flipped through the remaining slides to the end. “In that case, we’re done.”

Ryou clapped politely. The ghost that had been hanging behind him the whole time gave a thumbs up and popped out of existence.

“You did a great job,” Ryou said. “I can’t imagine the cast being a problem at all, not with everything else there is to look at.”

Yugi folded his laptop down, relieved “Thanks. I’d hate for the million hours of work I put into this to go to waste.”

“How long have you actually spent on it?”

He hopped back up on the couch, counting the days on his fingers. “I started it last week when it was announced the studio would be taking pitches for the pipeline, and worked on it pretty much non-stop since then, so…”

“Non-stop?”

“I said _pretty much_ non-stop. I still went to work and ate three meals a day, don’t worry.”

Ryou didn’t look amused. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Don’t get all _Jou_ on me, I’m fine.”

“I’ll get as Jou as I like, thank you very much.”

“I’m serious, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m _okay_. Minus the obvious.” He waggled his injuries.

Another joke fell flat as Ryou pulled out his trump card. “I was talking to Anzu the other day.”

“And?”

“And she said the last time she saw you, you looked ready to drop.”

When had he last seen Anzu, again? Yugi did a rapid loop through his most recent interactions with his friends. It took him all the way back to the beginning of the month, when he’d seen her for lunch after—

Oh.

Maybe going out in public the day after being “murdered” hadn’t been his best idea in the world.

Ryou picked up the fallen conversation, tapping his nails against his glass. “You looked like you were about to be sick. Her words.”

Yugi remembered trying to move around that day, bruises stretched over his skin and aching if he so much as brushed over them. “I wasn’t feeling too hot that day.”

“But you still went out.”

“Yes?”

“You know you _can_ say no to things if you don’t feel up to them.”

“I know.”

He absolutely hadn’t felt up to lunch that day, but his need to get out of the house had been even stronger. Unfortunately, those feelings didn’t end up diluting everything _else_ he’d been dealing with.

“But I’m better now,” he quickly added, as Ryou’s face started to scrunch up in suspicion. “I was going through some stuff, but it’s all done now.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?”

His eyes slowly slid away from direct eye-contact. “Work… stuff…”

“If you’re—”

“It was a one-time thing, though. Not a regular occurrence.”

“Are you _okay_ , Yugi?”

 _Here it comes_. “I’m fine.”

“I know you say that, but I’m worried about you. And not for the reasons you think I am.”

Yugi couldn’t say he hadn’t heard that one before, but it was rare enough to get his attention. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not prepared to throw stones in the ‘never leaving the house’ department.” He smiled wryly. “As you’re well aware.”

Yugi smiled back. “Keeping that glass house intact, I see.”

“More or less. But working yourself sick isn’t healthy, and neither is dismissing your own pain.”

 _That_ was definitely a new one. “What are you talking about?”

“I know Anzu tends to worry to a higher degree than most, but she mentioned a really nasty bruise on your hand.” Yugi felt his chest cave in. “And she _also_ said you refused to talk about where you got it.”

It would have been impossible to cover up the marks on his hand without drawing even more attention to them. They were massive, and even though they had faded to almost nothing, Yugi could still see a pale-yellow ghost on the back of his left hand if he squinted the right way. So, no, he didn’t bother to hide them when he met Anzu. And no, he hadn’t told her why he had them either. He was too exhausted to come up with a plausible excuse. He hoped it wouldn’t be too big a deal, but apparently, he was wrong.

“I wasn’t ignoring it,” he said. “I just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“What about this, then?” Ryou replied, pointing at the cast. “You’ve been living with a broken arm _by yourself_ for two weeks, and you haven’t once asked for help?”

“I’ve been managing just fine on my own.”

Atem appeared by the bookshelf stacked with games, floating upside-down. He mouthed “ _On your own”_ and made a set of air quotes around it – a gesture Yugi now regretted teaching him.

“I didn’t even want to bring this up,” Ryou said, “but you have a framed picture of a random stranger in your room, Yugi.”

Yugi pointed at him accusingly. “As if your place isn’t littered with _dozens_ of pictures of dead people.”

“At least _my_ dead people have _names_.”

“He’s got a _name_ we just don’t know what it is.” He ignored the massive air quotes from the ghost against the wall.

“And normally I would be all for this, but it’s just not _like_ you.”

“What, I can’t frame pictures of dead people for fun?”

“You _can_ , but you _don’t_. You never have.”

That was a fair observation. Yugi couldn’t remember a time in his life he’d been so invested in a dead person, but there was more to that situation than he’d ever let on.

“And the crown, too,” Ryou continued.

“What about it?”

“You _kept_ it.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, but it’s also _not_ like you. I thought you were only keeping it as a joke for the housewarming party. And now you’ve got it on the shelf with your grandfather’s discoveries along with the framed picture of the person who owned it.”

Yugi’s excuses were quickly running thin. “Yeah. I sure do.”

Ryou gestured at him, as if it would prove his point. “You’ve given that thing and that person the same respect you give members of your _family_.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He snapped his mouth shut too late to stop the defensive retort.

Luckily, Ryou seemed to think it was just another excuse. “I don’t understand why you _would_ , honestly.”

“Because it’s important to A-ah to me.” After correcting his slip, Yugi decided he liked that answer better. “It’s important to me.”

“How important could it possibly be? It’s just a crown.”

Yugi didn’t like being interrogated, and that’s exactly what this felt like. He took a careful breath, deciding how much to say without giving away the crown’s _real_ significance.

“It’s important,” he started, “because even if it’s not mine, this place wouldn’t be the same without it. It’s been here since I moved in, and—” he laughed at himself, only half making it up “—I know this is going to sound weird, but I feel safe knowing it’s here. Like it’s protecting me or something.”

Yugi didn’t need to look at Atem to know he was being stared at – he could feel the eyes on him from the couch. He shifted focus to his peripheral vision anyway, just for a second, just to see.

Atem was still hanging upside-down, but instead of looking sarcastically on or mouthing a patronizing “thank you,” he didn’t even seem to realize Yugi was looking at him. Every transparent feature lifted in a soft fondness, from a warm smile to kind doe-eyes to the gentle crease of his brows.

And for a moment, as Atem hung in the air, oblivious, Yugi got stuck. For the one second – even less – that he chose to look that way, every thought in his head got switched out for white noise and a curling warmth like the smoke coming off a blown-out candle.

But after that not-quite-a-second passed, Atem flinched in surprise and disappeared. The world started turning again.

“And the picture?” Ryou prodded.

Yugi quickly looked forward again, shaking off the lingering… whatever that was. “Same reason. It’s like a good luck charm.”

“Since when are you superstitious?”

“Since now, I guess.”

“That’s a rather drastic shift in character.”

“Well, maybe something drastic happened in my life.”

Ryou opened his mouth, then thought better of whatever he was going to say. Instead, he shook his head in defeat. “If you say you’re alright, I’ll believe you.”

“Thank you.”

He drained the remaining water in his glass and stood up. “I should get going. I’ve got a pile of classwork to do.”

Yugi stood, taking the empty glass. “It was nice catching up with you.”

Ryou reiterated that it was nice to see him again, and they agreed that they should totally do this more often. Then they laughed, knowing it was never, ever going to happen. Yugi sent him on his way, with a warning about the stairs on the way down.

As great as it was to see Ryou again, Yugi closed the door and sagged as the stress of trying to make his haunted house look un-haunted melted away.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m going to make sure I know when people are coming over.”

Atem materialized a polite distance away. “Do you remember where everything is?”

Yugi pushed off the door and made his way for the kitchen. “That was your job.”

The ghost skirted the edges of the room, looking all around. “Yes, it certainly was.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I will not tell you, then.”

He swung himself into the kitchen, plopping the empty glass in the sink. “Are we going to have to have a scavenger hunt with our own stuff?”

“Perhaps, but…”

Yugi re-entered the living room and saw Atem hovering at the bottom of the couch, almost _under_ it. He straightened up, holding a black, plastic rectangle.

“I do not believe this is ours.”

Yugi beckoned with his hand. “Let me see that.”

Atem handed it over. The plastic and rectangle observation had been correct, but it also had three buttons on the front of it, and a screen like a calculator. Instead of numbers, one was a red power button, the second read “AVG VPP,” and the third read “HOLD BEEP.” The screen was blank, but in a small font near the bottom of the device, it read “Electromagnetic Field Tester.”

“Of course,” Yugi muttered, already heading for the door. Why else would Ryou be so interested in the crown, or about how “different” he was acting? He should have known.

“What is it?”

“It’s something to detect ghosts with. Theoretically.”

“Does it… work?” Atem sounded almost nervous.

Yugi paused with his hand on the door handle. He _didn’t_ know if it worked. And whether or not it worked would determine if he wanted to admit to Ryou he’d found it.

He waved the ghost forward. “Come here, let’s try it.”

Atem floated cautiously forward, staring at the EMF meter like it would come to life and attack him. Yugi pressed the power button, and the gray-green screen sprung to life.

“Now,” he said, “how does this thing work?”

Atem recoiled. “You do not know how it _works_?”

“Relax, it’s not dangerous. It just scans the area for electr… You know what, you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

He waved it in an arc in front of him, poking the buttons. The numbers changed, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“Go over there for a second,” he instructed, waving vaguely at the back of the room.

“Gladly.”

Atem swept away to press himself against the closed bathroom door. Yugi watched the numbers on the EMF meter carefully. They didn’t change. _Some “ghost hunting” technology_ , he thought.

“Good news,” he announced. “It totally doesn’t work, and now I can give it back.”

“Thrilling.”

He turned the thing off and held up two fingers. “I’m not even going to say it.”

“Good.”

He opened the door. “But I _will_ think it.”

Atem didn’t have time to respond before Yugi shut the door behind him. He waddled down the stairs, left hand brushing across the handrail to break a hypothetical second fall. The EMF meter balanced in the weak grip he could manage with his right hand, and he pressed it to his chest so he wouldn’t drop it.

Ryou’s car still sat in the driveway, he noted, skipping down the steps a little faster to try and catch him.

“Hey!” he called, waving the ghost hunting tool. “You left this behind.”

Yugi got to the bottom of the stairs and received no response. The car hadn’t budged, either. The lights weren’t even on, and the driver’s seat was empty.

“Ryou?” he tried again, straining for an answer.

Nothing.

A creeping tendril of fear itched at the back of his mind. Against his better judgement, Yugi ducked under the staircase, doubling back to the office level. He looked down at the EMF meter, and almost wished it worked.

“Are you down here?” It was a half-rhetorical question, because he _had_ to be down here. There wasn’t anywhere else for him _to_ go.

Sure enough, Ryou stood at the door to the landlord’s half of the building. _Just_ stood there. He stared at the wood and peeling paint, with blank, glassy eyes. His jaw hung slack, his mouth half-open, and his breathing came in quiet wheezes. Yugi snapped his fingers next to his ear. He didn’t move.

The tendril was more like a fist, now, slowly crushing his chest. There was no way Ryou wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Unless that _wasn’t_ Ryou

Every alarm that was possible to ring was ringing. Yugi had half a mind to go back upstairs and grab the crown for backup, but the other half warned him that it wasn’t safe to leave Ryou by himself for any longer than he already had. Because he wouldn’t _really_ be by himself.

Yugi took a preparatory breath. “Hey.”

He barely tapped Ryou on the shoulder and he shot into the air like he’d been electrocuted, panting like a wild animal.

“Whoa, calm down,” Yugi said. “It’s just me.”

Ryou furrowed his brows, confused. “Yugi?”

“Yeah.” He held out the EMF meter. “You left this, so I was coming to give it back.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Ryou plucked the meter of his hand and gripped it like a lifeline. Yugi decided now would be a great time to get _out_ of here.

“What were you doing?” he asked, walking away and gesturing for his friend to follow.

He did follow, thankfully, but his eyes were clouded with confusion and more than a little nervousness. “I don’t really know. I—I was leaving, but then I thought I heard something.” He glanced over his shoulder warily.

“What did you hear?”

His frown got deeper. “ _Nothing_. I didn’t _hear_ anything, but I… it felt like I did. It’s hard to explain, but I felt distracted by something. Even though there _wasn’t_ anything.” His voice lowered to a decrescendo until he was all but muttering to himself.

Yugi was unwillingly thrown back into his memories of being near the journal – holding it when he meant to put it down, reaching for it without knowing what he was doing.

“That’s odd,” he said. “Maybe you saw something through the windows – there’s a lot of crazy junk in there.” That explanation couldn’t have been any less likely, but what was he supposed to say?

“Maybe.”

Ryou quietly unlocked his car and got in, but didn’t close the door. “Yugi?”

“Yeah?”

“Be… careful.”

He feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

Ryou met his eyes with intensity. “Just be careful.”

Yugi knew that anything he said would be too much. So he just nodded, and backed up to the bottom of the stairs as the car pulled away.

 

 

“Okay, how was that?”

Yugi had long since stopped counting how many times he’d practiced his pitch. He had it nearly memorized at this point, with the slides becoming less and less necessary to help him remember what he was supposed to say.

And _yet_.

“Better,” Atem replied, “but you are still speaking rather quickly, especially near the middle.”

“Last time you said I took too many pauses.”

Yugi could tell the ghost was trying to break it to him as gently as possible. “Yes, but you have overdone it a little. I can tell you are nervous—”

“Of course I’m _nervous_!” He threw himself into the nearest seat at the dinner table, closing the lid of his laptop hard. “I have to present this in front of the CEO and board of directors in _two days._ How else am I _supposed_ to feel?”

Atem put a sympathetic hand on his back. “It is not _wrong_ to be nervous, but if your audience sees it when you speak—”

“They won’t take me as seriously, I know.” He yawned and put his head in his arms.

They’d been at it for more than an hour, Yugi insisting on practicing the minute he got home from work. Considering he’d gotten home at nine-thirty, he was starting to regret that decision. He could be sleeping right now. Or _not_ sleeping, because he was so nervous about his presentation. He would have ended up awake either way, and that’s what frustrated him the most.

“I hate public speaking,” he declared.

“It is atrocious, I agree.”

Yugi lifted his head in surprise. “What?”

“What?”

“ _You_ don’t like public speaking?”

Atem put his chin in his hand, looking as tired as Yugi felt. “I hate it.”

“But you were a politician.”

“Not by choice, remember.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He searched his tired brain for the missing half of the thought. “You just always seemed like you’d be great at that sort of thing.”

“I had some exceptional teachers, with regard to ‘that sort of thing.’”

“You didn’t happen to bring their immortal souls with you, by any chance?”

He smiled. “Unfortunately, no. But I practically had a script to memorize, and thus their methods remain intact.”

“What do you mean?”

Atem skimmed through the air to “stand” at the head of the table. “I rehearsed fake council meetings for hours on end until I no longer had a reason to fear the real ones.”

“How do you rehearse a council meeting?”

“I can show you, if you like.”

Yugi sat up in his chair, forcing himself to be awake so he could pay attention. “If you think it’ll help, then go for it.”

Atem nodded, and his whole demeanor shifted. He leaned on his fists over the table, drawing himself up to stare confidently at the empty seats around him, and proclaimed, “I call to order this meeting of the council of Khedive Mohammad Ali Pasha al-Masoud bin Agha, to be overseen by myself, Atem Al Sadat, the Khedive’s chosen regent.”

Yugi was astounded at how different he became – instead of passively drawing attention, he commanded it. He scanned the vacant table as if they were full of important people, but not important enough for him to address directly. His eyes passed over every single seat, grazing the eyes of council members who didn’t exist.

“First order of business,” he continued, “a _Cheri-bashi_ on our southern border has given reports of a strong military presence. As you all should know, our relations on said border have not been exceedingly friendly, and it would be foolish to dismiss this out of hand. However, we must tread lightly – we cannot afford a war while the Khedive is out of state, nor do we have resources.” He turned his focus to an empty seat at his side. “ _Mushir_ , do you have a suggestion as how we should proceed?” He broke character for a moment to roll his eyes. “And then he says something _so_ insufferable I feel bad for our _katib_ —”

“Your what?” Yugi asked.

Atem looked over with a tired smile. “ _Katib_. Some poor boy had to sit through the whole meeting and write down everything we said. I felt especially bad for him when he had to record the outbursts, and for both of our sakes, I will not reenact them.”

“Fine by me.”

“In any case, let us pretend this matter has come to a conclusion.” He snapped back into character, as easily as if his personality had an on-off switch. “If none among the council object, we shall move on to our next item of the day’s meeting. _Sanjak-bey_ —” he turned to Yugi expectantly, “—you bring news of how your district fares?”

Yugi stared blankly. “Uh.”

Atem winked and pretended to whisper. “Just make something up.”

That didn’t help much, but he ran through his limited knowledge about the different things a politician needed to keep tabs on. “There’s been an increase in… crime.”

“Heretical in nature?”

He decided to roll with it. “Yes. Extremely heretical.”

Atem nodded gravely. “I expected as much, considering the Khedive’s absence. People believe they can get away with lawlessness in times such as these. I presume you have begun your investigation?”

Again, rolling with it, Yugi nodded. “Yes, but it’s been tough. Resources are thin.”

“I understand your district was already suffering inadequate reserves before the call to provision the army earlier this month. Will you be able to continue the search?”

“Not sure. If help could be provided to aid in the investigation into this surge in crime, it would be appreciated.”

Atem addressed the rest of the invisible council. “Are any districts able to provide aid to one of your own, in a time of treason?” He pointed at an empty chair. “You are willing?” He paused for a fake response. “Excellent. Resources should be provided within a fortnight from this agreement.”

“This is fun and all,” Yugi interrupted, “but I have no idea how useful it is for me.”

Atem relaxed his position, drawing his legs up so he was cross-legged in midair. “It is a different type of public speaking, but the takeaways are the same. You must be most important person in the room.”

“How?”

“Think about it logically – if you are not in the room, no one else in it has a reason to be there.”

Yugi raised a brow, disbelieving. “I’m not sure that applies to me.”

The ghost leaned forward earnestly. “But it _does_. Your pitch might not be the only reason for them to be there, but it is _a_ reason. You are filling time in their day. Without you, they would be sitting in an empty office, wasting their time.”

“They’re also signing my paychecks.”

“Exactly. They _need_ you there.”

He put up his hands, conceding the point. “Alright, I’m giving them a reason to be there. But I can’t do _that_.”

“Do what?”

Yugi gestured to the head of the table. “That. Any of what you just did.”

Atem shook his head. “Nonsense.”

“It’s—”

“I refuse to hear it.”

“But—”

Atem held out his finger in a “stop” gesture. Yugi narrowed his eyes, but he stopped talking.

“Once you understand _why_ you are the most important person there,” the ghost explained, “next you have to _believe_ it.”

“How?”

“Tell me the names of the people you will be presenting for.”

Yugi blinked. That was a weird shift. “Well, there’s Konosuke Oshita—”

Atem waved his hand dismissively. “Unimportant. Next.”

“Shuzo Otaki.”

“Negligible.”

“Kogoro Daimon.”

“Expendable.”

“Seto Kaiba?”

“Beneath you.”

To say that Yugi was confused would be an understatement as he watched the ghost react to all of the names with bored indifference. “Okay, _what_ are you doing?”

“You _are_ the most powerful person in that room,” Atem said, answering a completely different question. “You have to know it, you have to believe it, and then you can use it to your advantage.”

“ _This_ is what they taught you in regency school?”

He wiggled his hand back and forth. “It has been a few centuries.”

Yugi dragged his hands down his tired face and sighed. “Thanks for trying, but I don’t think I can believe I’m the ‘most important’ person in two days.”

Atem glided away from the head of the table to hover in front of him. “Neither could I. So I pretended like I believed it.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes, eventually. I know our situations are different, mainly because I _was_ the most important person in the room.” He pursed his lips as if the sentence had a bad taste. “Because of my status, I was expected to be confident, in control, and _enjoy_ it all the time. Pretending was not a perfect solution, but after a while, I started to believe it. And then I was no longer pretending.”

Yugi dropped his hands to the table. “Do you really think I can do that?”

“Absolutely. More than that—” Atem took both his hands and squeezed, “—I _know_ you can. Go on, show me how important you are.”

 “Alright Here I go, I guess.” He straightened up and made his best high-and-mighty expression. “Ooh, look at me, I’m essential, I’m incredibly vital to all of your lives.”

Atem laughed brightly. “Perfect. _Très magnifique_.”

Yugi pretended to be annoyed, taking his hands back to cross them over his chest. “First Arabic, now French? Am I ever going to understand what you’re talking about?”

“ _Eh bien, ç'est dommage que tu ne me peux pas comprendre.”_

“I think I caught two words from that. Maybe.”

“It would do you well to learn a second language. _Je dis ça, je dis rien_.”  

Yugi was going to trust that wasn’t an insult. “Why do _you_ know a second language?”

“It was the trade language of the time. My parents spoke it for business, and they taught me with the expectation I would be running the family business. It proved useful for politics, as well, so I kept sharp.”

His response was attacked by a yawn, and he nearly shoved his fist in his mouth trying to cover it. “Bedtime,” he said, muffled by his hand.

Atem scooped the forgotten laptop into his arms, and was halfway down the hall before Yugi could bring himself to get out of his seat. He dragged himself to standing, and shuffled down the hall, his sleepy brain swirling with the near-memorized speech for his presentation.

He didn’t even bother taking off his clothes before collapsing to bed.

 

 

A few things coaxed Yugi awake, bringing him out of sleep like pushing off the bottom of a pool. Cold air tugged his hairline back, as if a fan was blowing at on face, but it was too methodical to be _just_ air. His casted arm hovered mysteriously – though he hadn’t opened his eyes, he could feel it elevated with nothing under it. A soft, dulcet murmur drifted into his ears, like someone singing quietly, but he couldn’t make out any of the words.

He didn’t open his eyes when his senses came back to him, trying to recapture unconsciousness. But his groggy mind has already decided it aware enough to catch the words that went along with the tune being crooned into his ear, so he remained awake.

“… _longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai_ ,” sang an unmistakable voice. Yugi only knew one person who could speak French, after all.

The rest of the pieces fell into place. That wasn’t wind in his hair – it was a hand. His arm wasn’t floating – it was being supported by a ghost.

“ _J'ai perdu mon ami sans l'avoir mérité_ _/ Pour un bouton de rose que je lui refusai…”_

Atem’s singing trailed off as Yugi blinked his eyes open, exhaling what might have been a yawn or a sigh. Just barely visible in the dark, he saw his cast as he lied on his side, sitting in a transparent lap.

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” Atem said, speaking just as soft as his singing, carding through Yugi’s hair one last time before drawing his hand back. “ _Est-ce que je t'ai réveillé_?”

“Japanese, please” Yugi said, voice creaking with disuse.

“My mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He smiled – it clearly wasn’t. “Did I wake you?” Yugi nodded, blinking away sleep. “Ah. My apologies, then.”

“’S okay. I probably would have woken up anyway.”

“Doubtful.”

Yugi’s retort was cut off when he yawned. “What time is it?”

“Late. You should return to sleep.”

He didn’t have a whole lot of protests to that. But he did have one question.

“What’s that song?” he asked.

“ _À la claire fontaine_. An old nursery rhyme.”

“What’s it about?”

Atem shook his head dismissively. “Nothing important.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“And you are not sleeping.”

“I don’t have t—” Yugi started, before another yawn cut off the rest of his sentence. He covered his mouth with the back of his free hand, eyes squeezing closed so tight he felt the beginnings of tears at the edges.

Atem chuckled, pushing back Yugi’s bangs with his hand again. “You do not have to _what_ , hm?”

He wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he could already feel himself drifting back to sleep, hand plopping back down onto the mattress. Every breath sat heavy in his lungs. His eyelids hung even heavier.

“ _Dormez bien_ ,” Atem said. And then, so soft it was hardly legible, he added, “ _Ma colombe_.”

Yugi was asleep before he could ask what it meant.

And even in his dreams, he heard a quiet song made of wind in the leaves and the gurgle of water over rocks. It was halfway between a comforting lullaby and mournful longing.

“ _Je voudrais que la rose fût encore au rosier_ ,” it went. “ _Et que mon doux ami fût encore à m'aimer_. _/  Il y a longtemps que je t'aime… jamais je ne t'oublierai._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t worry everyone, the next chapter is going to be completely normal! exactly 0 things will happen! you have nothing to worry about, please enjoy the rest of your day!


	9. Fire Starter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! the extremely normal chapter, where nothing at all happens! there is no war in ba sing se 
> 
> (warning: there’s a bit of blood and improper use of kitchen knives early on)

As soon as Yugi woke up, he could tell something was different.

His phone’s alarm blared from the bedside table, and as he rolled over to slap it to silence, there was an unsettling lack of cold on the way there. Atem was nowhere to be seen – or unseen. He pushed himself to sit, hunched over and bleary-eyed, head still swimming with a song in a language he couldn’t understand.

“Good morning?” he asked his empty room. No response. Not even an approaching cold patch.

Yugi’s gaze wandered around the room until it caught the eye of the crown, sitting high and mighty on the shelf. The framed daguerreotype stared down at him, too, and he gave it a lopsided smile. If Atem didn’t greet him in the morning, he was undoubtedly in the crown, for whatever reason. Though the reason was usually Hazim. His stomach twisted.

Yugi sighed and shuffled out of his blankets, rolling his stiff shoulders. He just had to wait.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he mumbled in the general direction of the shelf. Knowing Atem could still hear him when he was in the crown was a small comfort.

He went about his morning routine in silence, prepping his coffee maker and awkwardly hoisting himself onto the countertop to sit and wait for the beep. He idly traced the petals of one of the chrysanthemums on his cast. It was really pretty. Pink. Gentle. He almost felt like if he leaned down to sniff, it would give off a pleasant floral aroma.

It did nothing to distract him from worrying.

Atem would be fine. Logically, he knew Atem would be fine. Despite Hazim’s bolder moves, both ghosts had been increasing in power to a fairly even degree – or so Atem claimed. Yugi still wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, or just saying that to make him feel better. Either way, he was going to force himself to believe it, if only to avoid the alternative.

Regardless of how “fine” Atem would supposedly be, it wasn’t ever a _comfort_ to find him missing from the house in the morning. To wake up and be uncomfortably warm. To say, “good morning” and not hear a response. In a primal way, every time Yugi woke up without a ghost at his side, he felt an overwhelming sense of _Wrong_.

But Atem would be fine. Everything would go back to normal, and he would be fine.

Yugi stopped tracing the flower petals. He put his head back to lean on the cabinets and sighed. Mornings alone were long. And boring. And becoming frightfully frequent. Atem had been missing every morning since Ryou’s visit earlier that week. Yugi wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence, but he sincerely hoped it was. For a lot of reasons.

He came back, of course. He always came back. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The coffee maker beeped. Yugi hopped down from the counter, quietly poured himself a mug, and brought it out to sit at the dinner table. He sat in a chair that gave him the best view of the hallway and strained all of his senses for a gust of air, a frustrated muttering from two rooms away, a dim flash of golden light, _anything_ that would let him know if Atem had come home.

The mug stalled halfway to his lips.

Wait, what?

_Since when_ , he asked himself, _is this his “home”?_

Yugi scalded his tongue on his coffee when he took a drink from it, but couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. Where had _that_ thought come from? It wasn’t necessarily wrong. Technically, they both lived there. Kind of. But if anything, it was _Yugi’s_ home and Atem’s… temporary resting place?

He stared into his own mildly distressed expression in his coffee. It was _his_ home. Not Atem’s. Not really. Thinking about it like that would only make him feel worse when they inevitably parted ways. One way or another.

Yugi put his mug down and palmed at his eyes. He really had to stop thinking about _that_ , too.

However determined he was to get Hazim out of their lives and help Atem find his way to the afterlife, Yugi couldn’t deny there was a selfish part of him that wanted to drag it out as long as possible. He could come up with dozens of excuses for it – it was natural to not want a friend to die, it was a selfish (and loud) minority to a selfless majority, the idea of confronting Hazim still scared him – but there was really only _one_ reason it existed:

He didn’t want Atem to leave.

He really, _really_ didn’t want it to happen.

He had considered talking to Atem about it before, but could he ever say, “I don’t want you to pass on,” out loud without sounding like a jerk? Probably not.

So he kept it to himself. He tried to put it in a box and ignore it when it came up, but it always found its way back. Especially on mornings like these.

Yugi finished his coffee, slow. A bit slower than he normally would, but he wasn’t worried about the time. Getting up early did have its minimal perks, and they were especially useful when he was waiting. Work could do without him for a little longer.

Yugi poured the rest of the coffee from the pot into the thermos he took to work, and tried not to make himself sick when it occurred to him that _Atem is usually out by now_. He was taking longer. Or something was keeping him from getting back.

It took a great effort not to sprint back to his room. He didn’t even bother getting changed before grabbing the crown from the shelf and holding in both hands, worrying the base of the wings between his thumbs. It was ice cold, a good sign. That meant it was possessed.

“Hey,” he said, feeling equal parts justified and ridiculous for talking to an inanimate object. “I know it’s probably silly of me, but I at least want to know you’re still kicking before I leave. So, if you can… give me a sign or something?”

Nothing short of Atem popping out and saying to his face that he was okay would _completely_ put his fears to rest, but Yugi knew that the crown could do all sorts of crazy things when Atem was inside it. He could make the eye blink, glow, move around, probably more. There were subtle ways to let Yugi know he was alright. He preferred overt, but this was better than nothing.

When a familiar smoke-like mist began leaking out of the eye, he almost jumped for joy.

But something was different.

Instead of floating around in the air, the mist dropped like a stone to the floor. Even the crown felt heavier with the effort, expelling a seemingly endless supply of dark smoke, roiling like angry clouds in a storm. It condensed and coalesced into a dark splotch, not holding one shape for longer than a few seconds, and certainly not forming a _person_.

Yugi could only stare with wide eyes, frozen to the spot, holding the crown at arm’s length as the smoke poured and poured and _poured_ out of the golden eye. It should have choked all the air out of the room, but it all plunged to the ground to join the rest of the escaped smog in its twisted dance.

The cloud of smoke pulsed like a heartbeat, spiraling and shifting in its formless shape. It was silent, but he could have sworn he heard a _th-thmp-th-thmp-th-thmp_ from the action alone. Like a sadistic snow globe, it compacted itself into a knee-high dome, only growing as more and more smoke emerged from the crown.

It kept throbbing – _th-thmp-th-thmp-th-thmp_ – darkening from a light gray to the color of charcoal. Freezing cold air radiated from the dome as if it were a chunk of dry ice. Yugi’s fingers were red and burning and nearly numb from holding the frigid crown, but he only gripped it tighter it, terrified of what would happen if he let it go.

The dome’s pulsing got frantic, hurried, less like a heartbeat and more like boiling water. The smoke spun and curled and thrashed. It caved in on itself only to pop back up again.

A sliver of a crack broke through the shell of the dome, glowing with a cold white light. It spiderwebbed across the rest of shape, thin branches of light contrasting with the dark. Thin rivers of the bright glare chased each other across the dome, and in seconds, the darkness was broken into dozens of pieces, separated by the rifts.

A miniscule piece on the top of the dome popped off.

The rest of the pieces _exploded_.

Yugi dropped the crown to shield his face with his frozen hands, a searing cold burst of air and a blinding light assaulting his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut desperately, backing up until he hit the wall. Even with his eyes closed and face covered, he could feel parts of the dome shoot off, firing all over his room before hitting something and dissolving with an unnatural _hssss_.

Underneath all of the cacophony, hardly audible, were raggedly chanted words in a language he didn’t speak. Daring to peek through his fingers, Yugi squinted into the fading glare and his heart jumped into his throat. Atem was there, down on his hands and knees. But there was something missing.

Literally.

A gaping empty hole replaced half of Atem’s torso. His left shoulder was ripped to smithereens, the rest of the arm attached to nothing as it clutched at what used to be his body. His right leg looked it had been bitten off, raggedly torn wisps of gray at the hip the only thing remaining of it.

And if anyone had been there to try and stop Yugi from bolting across the room and dropping to his knees in front of the ghost, they would have looked remarkably similar.

“What happened?” he asked, and then corrected himself. “What did he _do_?”

Atem grit his teeth, eyes pinched shut, and shook his head. “It does not matter.”

“Of course it _matters,_ why would you even—”

“No, no… wh-what is that phrase?” He opened one eye just enough to look Yugi in the face,  smile weakly, and say, “’You sh-should see the other guy’?”

Yugi could not _believe_ what he was hearing. “Are you making _jokes_ right now?”

“Yes?” Atem screwed up his face again and groaned through his teeth in an attempt to muffle it. It didn’t work.

“Is there a way to—” Yugi gestured at the wounds, “—to _heal_ this?”

“It will recover on i-its own. In a few—” he cringed again, writhing in pain.

“In a few _what_? Minutes? Hours? Days?”

“W-weeks.”

“ _Weeks?_ ”

Atem found the strength to push himself to a semi-kneeling position. He supported himself by plopping his right arm on Yugi’s shoulder. He made eye contact, but it was dizzy, unfocused. “I will be fine,” he insisted. “Hazim is just as hurt, he c-cannot—”

“I don’t care,” Yugi interrupted.

“I—what?”

“I don’t care about Hazim, I care about _you_. What can I do?”

He shook his head again. “That is k-kind of you, but th-there is nothing to be done.”

“You’re lying.”

Yugi had never been so sure of something in his life, and the startled look Atem gave him was only further confirmation.

“You’re lying,” he repeated. “I can help, so tell me what to do.”

He lowered his head, resolute. “N-no.”

“Just _tell_ me.”

“You will not do it.”

“That’s my choice, you can’t make it for me.”

“I will not _let you_ do this to yourself, Yugi, I—” he broke off to grind his teeth together and curse under his breath. His outline shook, thin wisps peeling off his body and wobbling in the air.

Yugi used his partially numb hands to force Atem to look up, to look at him. “Listen to me,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “I promise that whatever it is I have to do, it won’t hurt me nearly as bad as it hurts to see you like this.”

“You c-cannot possibly know that.”

“Yeah, actually, I can.”

Atem just closed his eyes, and said… something. The words were enunciated clearly, but Yugi didn’t understand them.

“You can’t get around not telling me what to do by saying it in a different language.”

He smiled but it was pained. “I w-was not telling you what to do.”

Yugi dropped his hands. “Then can you? Please?”

Atem sighed, long and heavy. “Blood.”

“’Blood’?”

“I need blood.”

Well. That was an unpleasant thought.

Yugi’s hesitation must have shown on his face, because Atem followed up with, “You do not h-have to do this.”

His only response was, “How much?”

“Please, if—”

Yugi ripped off the adhesive bandages on his left hand – the ones he was supposed to leave on for another two days. “How much?”

Atem looked between the hand and Yugi’s face. “A c-considerable amount.”

“Will it kill me?”

He flinched violently, from more than just his pain. “No! No, I would never—”

“I’ll be right back.”

Yugi stood up, the ghost’s arm dropping from his shoulder, and left the room without another word.

He couldn’t believe he was really doing this, but at the same time, he didn’t really see any other choice. If Hazim had gotten powerful enough to do this much damage, there was a chance it would happen again. And if it happened before Atem was fully recovered, there was a chance it would kill him. Again.

They were going to part ways eventually. It was inevitable. But he’d be damned if it happened before he said so.

Yugi grabbed a paring knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen, trying not to think about how he was going to be using it on the way back. 

Atem was still on the floor, curled up on his mostly intact side. Yugi knelt down next to him again.

“Can you move?” he asked. “I’d rather do this in the bathroom. Easier clean-up.” He made himself queasy with the thought of what, exactly, he’d be cleaning up.

Atem rolled over to sit. “I think I—” he rose into the air about six inches, and dropped back to the ground. “I think I need help.”

Wordlessly, Yugi came around to his right side, wrapping an arm around (most of) his waist, fitting the ghost’s arm around his shoulders, and “lifting” the rest of him up. Somehow, it worked.

“Does gravity suddenly apply to you now?” he asked, only partly joking.

Atem rested his weight on Yugi as heavily as a ghost could, which wasn’t a lot. “No. But floating is still an e-effort. Like walking.”

“Just tell me if it hurts, okay?”

The only response he got was a nod, half-buried in his neck, and more words he didn’t understand. He didn’t ask what they meant – didn’t even think to. There were more important things on his mind.

Yugi walked them across the hall, slowly, hyperaware of every move he made that might jostle the ghost slung around his shoulders. Atem’s lack of breathing was distressing now more than ever, and paired with the gaping wounds, it was enough that Yugi had to remind himself that not breathing was a _normal_ sign.

Finally, they got to the bathroom. Yugi set Atem gently down on the floor against the wall, a position he gratefully took. His half-arm was still wrapped around his middle, head lolled back against the wall.

Yugi stared at the knife in his hand. “How does this work?”

“You bleed,” Atem explained, hardly a mumble. “And then I t-touch it.”

“Alright. Here goes nothing.”

He sat down, raised the knife…

And really wished his hands were still numb for this.

Yugi brought the knife down across the puffy scar that had only just started to form, the same jagged path that the nail cut into his hand. The metal stung, and he forced himself not to jerk away, only keeping his eyes open enough to see what he was doing. The cut wasn’t deep, when all was said and done, but it wasn’t long before a small pool of red started to gather in the center of his palm. He didn’t look at it, instead choosing to look at Atem, hand held out like an offering.

“Here,” he said, setting the knife to the side.

Atem stared at the wound, guilty, as if he’d personally put it there. He reached out his mangled left arm, fingers hovering millimeters above the cut. He breathed, “I am so sorry for this.”

And then gripped the hand like a lifeline.

Later, Yugi would recall the experience as getting his blood sucked out with a straw. But in the moment, all he could do was scream.

There was no searing agony to go with it, no sweating, no burning. It was a cold kind of pain. The kind that sucked the warmth from his body and sent him reeling. It was exposing a laceration to the blizzards on a mountain peak. It was putting ice into a gaping wound. It was the kind of pain that took and took and kept on taking until he had nothing left.

If he could have opened his eyes, Yugi would have seen his blood lift off his hand and glow white. He would have seen it travel in spirals like water up Atem’s arm and repair the gap within seconds. He would have seen it travel down, over the ghost’s body to coalesce in his middle and repair the hole. He would have seen it do the same for the missing leg, swirling around and around to reform the shape.

What he _did_ see, even though his eyes were trapped shut in pain, was the light that radiated from the crown and the slowly reforming body. The bright, golden-white light, as cold as it was beautiful, shining against his lids. Like staring into the sun in winter.

It ended suddenly, the pain breaking off as swiftly as cutting off the water on a sink. Yugi blinked open his eyes with a gasp, and then they were rolling to the back of his skull, a rush of intense dizziness washing over him like a tsunami. He tipped backward, vision blurry, body cold—

And then he was being yanked forward by the arm, pulled back up to fold in half at the waist. He draped himself uselessly over a transparent shoulder as Atem clutched his hair and the back of his shirt.

“I am so, so, _so_ sorry,” he said, voice back to its full strength, muffled only by him burying his face in Yugi’s neck.

Yugi himself barely had enough sensation left to stay conscious, but he managed to croak out, “’Sokay.”

“How can you _say_ that?”

“Got to help.”

Atem make a choking sound, like he was trying his hardest to cry without a body. “You are far too kind to me.”

“No ‘m not.”

The ghost pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, one hand still tangled in locks of dark hair, the other moving to take the cut hand, no longer bleeding. His face was bunched up, brows knitted together tightly, corners of his mouth wobbling. It really _did_ look like he was trying to cry.

 “Hey,” Yugi said, trying to smile, “’sokay. ‘Mokay.”

Atem just lifted the heel of Yugi’s hand to his mouth and held it there, pressing cold lips against it in the approximation of a kiss. It felt more like putting an ice cube to his skin, but the gesture filled in the space between the action and the sensation.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, forcing the slur out of his voice.

Atem didn’t meet his eyes. He just stared down at the cut. “I should help you with this.”

Before Yugi could tell him to stop, the ghost lifted off the ground effortlessly, leaning Yugi’s limp body against the wall so he wouldn’t fall over. Yugi watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Atem rummaged around in one of the drawers, taking out a washcloth and a small roll of gauze. It was left over from the stitches – unused since they’d been taken out. So much for that.

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the next room. Even the rushing of the sink as Atem wet the cloth was muted. The room was getting darker, too.

_That’s weird_ , Yugi thought, watching the lights flicker. _I thought I just replaced those bulbs_.

“Please keep your eyes open,” Atem said, muffled like he was underwater. 

Trying his best to do what he was told, Yugi blinked, hard, to keep his eyes wide and alert. It was difficult.

Atem returned to the floor, taking Yugi’s cut hand and carefully patting it with the wet cloth. He grimaced at the cut, and his eyes flicked to the abandoned knife on the floor. “You will not be helping me this way again.”

“But,” Yugi muttered, “what if—”

“I will not argue with you.” He put the cloth down and picked up the gauze.

“But—”

“Stop.” He was hardly whispering. “Please.”

Yugi stopped.

Atem wound the gauze around Yugi’s hand, carefully, like he always did, cold fingers folding the thin fabric with delicate precision. Then he unwound it, a frown cutting deep into his face, and re-did the wrap. And then he unwound it. And did it again. And then he unwound it.

And then he stopped, hands fisting in his lap. He didn’t look up. “I could have killed you,” he said, another almost-sob.

“You said it wouldn’t,” Yugi pointed out.

“Even so. I could have— I might have underestimated—”

“But you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth, but Yugi cut him off before he got the first word out.

“I trust you,” he said. “You won’t hurt me.”

“But I just _did_.”

“Not for no reason. I wanted to do it. I’m _happy_ I did it.”

“Why?”

What a question.

_Why_ was Yugi content with getting his blood sucked out of his body? _Why_ was he willing to risk his life for someone who was already dead? _Why_ wouldn’t he ever be able to bring himself to regret this, even though he knew working would be significantly harder today? _Why_ was he sure that, no matter what Atem said, he would be happy to do this over and over again?

The answer was almost too easy.

“Because you’re okay again,” he said. _Because you’re back home_.

Atem hung somewhere between grief and devotion when he finally looked up. “Far too kind, indeed.”

Yugi shook his head. “Stop saying that.”

“You cannot honestly believe I deserve it.”

He did. Of _course_ he did. But that wasn’t the point. “Doesn’t matter if you deserve it or not. I’m giving it to you anyway.”

“Yugi—”

“I won’t argue about it.”

Atem searched his face desperately, with wide, confused eyes. Yugi stared him right in the face, as best he could – he wasn’t budging on this. Not now, not ever.

Then, Atem put the gauze down. He took Yugi’s face in both his hands and pressed an ice-cube-kiss to his forehead. It was soft and barely-there, cold trickling down the sides of his face and spreading across the top of his head. It was… nice.

“Thank you,” Atem said, pulling away, but not letting go. “For everything.”

Yugi just smiled at the ghostly thumbs that brushed across the apples of his cheeks. Lingering for a moment longer.

He did let go, eventually. He wrapped the cut perfectly, but he made Yugi flex his hand to check the tightness anyway.

“Are you alright to stand?” he asked, once satisfied.

Yugi braced himself against the bathroom wall, struggling to his feet. “I think I got it.”

His knees buckled halfway to standing, the rest of him nearly collapsing. Atem rushed forward, but Yugi put both hands on the wall, shaking his head.

“I got it,” he insisted, crawling his way back up the wall.

“Are you sure?”

He finally got to a fully standing position and pushed off the wall. He held out his arms. “See?”

Atem didn’t look the slightest bit convinced, and he didn’t act it either. “Can you walk?”

Yugi took one shaky step forward. His head spun, but he didn’t fall. Progress. “I’m... Yeah, I can. I’m okay.”

“Yugi…”

He took another step. Easier. He turned around to face the door—

And didn’t even realize he’d gone down until he was being picked up.

“Whoops,” he mumbled.

His knees had decided to give out again, the world flashing in a dozen colors and spinning in circles. The only thing keeping him from meeting the floor was Atem, holding him under his arms like a marionette.

“You _can_ ask for help,” the ghost said, hefting him to his feet again. He kept one arm across his  back.

“I know,” Yugi said, taking another wobbly step toward the exit. Atem held out his other land like a guardrail, and he took it. “But I’m going to have to be on my own at work—”

“At _work_?”

“Well, yeah, I still have to—”

“How are you going to _get_ there? You cannot drive like this.”

“I’ll take the train.”

“Must you?”

Yugi braced himself on the threshold of the bathroom door as they passed, looking over his shoulder. “There’s a meeting about the pitches tomorrow. I have to go.”

Atem looked like he wanted to say _To hell with it, you’re staying home_ , but he didn’t. He just guided them forward again.

“Besides,” Yugi continued, “I told Aikawa I’d take her to lunch today.”

“What for?”

“I’m thanking her for keeping me updated the week I was out. Gotta keep my promises.”

The ghost hummed, but was otherwise silent on their trek back to the bedroom.

Yugi struggled into his clothes for the day – the easiest things he could pull out of his closet – working awkwardly around his cast and an exhaustion that was ten times stronger than how he felt after getting his blood drawn. _I am never going to complain about a blood test again_ , he decided, sitting down on the bed to give himself a break from standing.

 Atem picked up the crown where it had been left on the floor, staring into the eye in the center. “He has never been that close before,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“Hazim followed me into my space in the crown when I tried to come back. That is what all… _that_ was.”

Yugi felt sick for a different reason than blood loss. “That smoke stuff? That was him?”

“It is as close a thing to a physical form as he has, yes.”

“Could he come back?”

“So soon after today? No. Theoretically, once he is strong enough? Yes.”

Yugi stood up again, worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. That wasn’t good. At all. But he didn’t have time to worry about it.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Atem, still holding the crown, floated up. “Before you go, I was… thinking.”

“About?”

The ghost pushed the crown forward, like an offering. “If you want I can, ah. Go with you.”

Yugi stared down at the crown, half of him wanting to take it and never let it out of his sight. But there was another half, the responsible half, that told him it probably wasn’t a great idea.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I _want_ to, but I’m going to be working. Distractions aren’t really the best for that.”

“Distractions?”

Yugi smiled, a little teasing. “I’d have to keep you under control. You would get _so_ bored, and probably doodle on all my notes.”

Atem ducked his head and laughed, pulling the crown into his chest. “You know me rather well, I see.”

He carefully took hold of the transparent wrists, pulling the crown back to the space between them. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t go with me _other_ places.”

Atem picked his head back up with a tentative smile. “Truly?”

Yugi smiled back, shrugging. “It would make up for all the times I thought you couldn’t go with me places. We can talk about it later, if you want.”

“I—Yes, I would—I would like that.”

“Maybe I can see what Jou is doing this weekend. I’ll bring you along to hang out.”

Atem’s excitement faltered for a moment, but the crack was quickly papered over. “I am sure it will be enjoyable, whatever it is.”

“Right.” He let go of the cold wrists, and backed up for the door. “See you.”

“Have…” Atem screwed up his face and tried again. “Be safe, Yugi.”

Yugi stopped halfway out the door. The dark dome made of smoke came back to him. “You too.”

They locked eyes for a moment. Knowing.

Then Yugi turned around, and left.

 

 

He rapped on the side of Aikawa’s desk. “Hey, you ready to go?”

The concept artist stretched her arms behind her head, both of them covered in tattoos of classic video game characters, butterflies, and dragons, chasing each other up her wrists and across her shoulders. There was a tablet pen clutched in one of her hands, and her desk was a mess of other similar utensils – pens, pencils, paper, coffee. Artist things.

“Sure,” she said. “I could use a break.”

He peeked around the computer, looking over the art on screen. “Last minute weapon designs?”

“Yeah, this one’s supposed to make use of the burst mechanic.” She clicked a few times, and pulled the zoomed-in barrel of the gun out to reveal the full design.

“It looks awesome.”

“You know what else is awesome? Food.”

He laughed and motioned out the door. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

The pair made their way out of the studio, passing countless desks, projects, people, and interior design invoking KCStudio’s past games. The walls were painted with different game environments, and characters from the most popular titles had their own statues – some tall enough to brush the ceiling with ease. They sat in the offices of the designers, coders, artists, and the countless others, to remind them of the legacy of the building they worked in. As if they needed reminders at all. Yugi knew _he_ certainly didn’t, but it was admittedly cool to see the games he loved come to life.

“Where did you want to go?” Yugi asked, as they passed the giant KaibaCorp logo at the front of the building. “Remember, I’m buying.”

“Have you tried that new salad place?” Aikawa pointed down the street, and he could vaguely recall someone mention something like that was opening.

“No, not yet. Is it good?”

“I haven’t tried it either. Now seems like as good a time as any.”

The place was within walking distance, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. A good thing, because both he and Aikawa had taken the train to work, so it wasn’t like they could drive around. Bad because Yugi was still recovering from his dramatic loss of blood from earlier than morning.

The coffee had helped, and so had a bagel from the break room. But his feet still dragged a little heavier than he wanted them too, and it had been hard to focus on one thing for too long. He had to be constantly bouncing between tasks to keep himself awake, which meant he was only getting a little of each done at a time instead of knocking them out one after the other, like usual. What’s worse, he had several coworkers remark on his pale complexion, and ask him if he was cold because they saw his hands shaking. Ironically, he’d been breaking out into cold sweats all day. He’d been a little on edge, too, which didn’t help his persistent mild dizziness.

“You feeling alright?”

Yugi jumped when he heard himself being addressed, and realized he’d fallen significantly behind Aikawa, stopped and turned around waiting for him. He picked up his pace with a friendly smile.

“You tall people,” he joked, “and your long legs. Always leaving me behind.”

“I’m not tall,” she said, “you’re miniscule.”

“Point made. If I’m short, that means everyone else is tall.”

“I think you’re misusing the transitive property there.”

“I think I’m using it just fine.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but grew serious as they continued walking. “Seriously, though, are you good? Your hand is bandaged up again.”

“I’m fine. I just re-opened it on accident this morning. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing I can’t handle.” _And hopefully something I won’t have to do too frequently._

Aikawa winced in sympathy. “Yikes. You think you’ll need to get it stitched up again?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Good. How’d you even do it?”

Having a ghost for a roommate was making Yugi a fantastic liar. “It was a gradual thing, I think. I’ve been using my hand a lot since I got the stitches out and I guess it wasn’t _completely_ healed yet.”

“I’ve done that.” She turned over one inked arm and pointed at a pale scar running across the back of her bicep. “I thought it was a good idea to start fencing again when I got my stiches out and it _didn’t_ actually end up being a good idea.”

He looked at the scar. “Looks like it was pretty deep.”

She put her arm down. “It was. Had to take another week off for that.”

“Why did you need them in the first place?”

“My dad’s a mechanic. I was helping him out in the shop on this really busted car and I tore myself open on a piece of scrap.”

Yugi sucked in air through his teeth. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, ‘ouch.’ Hurt like hell.”

The street turned a corner and Yugi turned right into another person.

He didn’t even have time to try and swerve out of the way, colliding in a flash of blue and blonde and a heavy three-ring binder. It dropped to the ground and spilled stacks of important looking documents onto the sidewalk.

He dropped onto his knees to help gather them up, blurting a startled, “I am so sorry about that.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, I didn’t even see you.”

Yugi scooped together a bunch of papers, adjusting them until they all sat pretty much evenly. “Nah, it’s not your fault I never look where I’m going.”

He handed the papers back, for the first time looking at the person he’d run into and…

Recognized her. Barely.

And it was clear she recognized him, too, because her face lit up around her blue, wire-framed glasses. “Hey… Yugi, right?”

He handed the papers back, combing through his mind for a name to match the face. “Yeah, that’s me. And you’re—” he gave up on the name, and substituted a place instead, “—from the bowling alley right?”

She ripped the stack from his hand so fast he was shocked it didn’t cut him along the way. “You remember me!”

“Ha, yeah. It’s been a while.” He looked down at the ground, supposedly looking for more spilled documents, but _really_ thinking, _Name, name, name, what is her_ name _?_ Sadly, the sidewalk remained blank of paper and a name.

“A couple months, right?”

“Something like that.”

She stood up, clutching the binder and all its re-collected papers to her chest. Yugi stood up with her, on his way up noticing a name – partially covered -- written on the binder’s spine in neat, black ink: _Rebecca Haw-_ something. Name acquired, even if it was only the first half.

“I’ve got to get going,” _Rebecca_ said, the smile she’d grown not letting up for an instant. “See you around?”

“Sure, maybe.” He couldn’t exactly promise that, considering he had no idea where she was going to or coming from.

She brushed past him, making confident eye contact. “I know it’s been a while, but you can still feel free to call me if you’re still…”

He nodded, if only to show he’d heard what she was saying. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rebecca continued down the street and Yugi gave Aikawa an apologetic look. She glanced behind them.

“What was that?” she asked, picking up down the street toward lunch again.

“No idea,” he admitted.

“Are you going to call her?”

He almost laughed. “Not in the near or distant future, I don’t think.”

She threw up her eyebrows. “That’s pretty definite. You’ve already got somebody?”

“Nothing like that. I just don’t really _want_ that sort of thing right now.”

“Fair enough,” Aikawa said, and the conversation dropped off.

Yugi, however, was having a conversation with _himself_.

It was weird to admit that he was alright being single, but it was true. He hadn’t thought of a relationship _since_ that months-ago bowling night out, ironically enough. It just slipped his mind, despite how much he thought he wanted one. Despite how much Jou insisted – and he agreed, for the most part – he would _need_ one to stay sane.

At the same time, he didn’t feel “married to his work,” like he normally did when he was single. He wasn’t staying at the studio for unhealthy lengths of time – at least, not until crunch was concerned – and he wasn’t obsessing about working every minute he _wasn’t_ working. And as much as he loved his job, he was _excited_ to go home at the end of the day, more often than not. He hadn’t thought about it before now, but there it was.

Weirdly, he couldn’t put a finger on _why_ he felt that way.

But, as their destination for lunch came into view, breaking up the blue-gray city streets with an overwhelming splash of green and yellow, he decided he could worry about it later.

 

 

Tired. That was the word. Achingly, feet-dragging-ly, forcing-his-eyes-open-ly, _tired_.

Yugi had hoped he’d be _less_ tired when he got home than when he left for the day, but he honestly felt worse. He counted his lucky stars that he even found his way home from the train station –  was hardly eight and he felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. That wasn’t the strange part, though.

His physical symptoms had gone away – his face had its usual color back, his hands weren’t cold, he hadn’t had cold sweats since before lunch – but the exhaustion that prevailed went deeper than his body. It was as if someone had reached into his body and scooped out a chunk of his existence. He wasn’t just tired – he felt like there was less _of_ him. He hoped that wasn’t the case in reality, but he made a mental note to ask as he staggered up the first few stairs.

He didn’t get much farther than that.

Like a snake curling around the branch of a tree, a devastatingly familiar tendril of gray smoke slithered across the railing. Yugi recoiled, pressing his back against the opposite side and glaring furiously.

“Get away from me,” he demanded.

The tendril snapped to attention and condensed into a hazy patch of mist, like someone had taken an eraser to the world.

“How courageous of you,” said Hazim, his voice a weak whisper. Yugi was almost relieved by it.

“Don’t patronize me. Actually, don’t talk to me at _all_.”

He marched up the steps, still pressed against the railing as far away from the hazy patch of _murderer_ hanging out on his stairs.

“I see he finally convinced you, then.”

Yugi stopped. Turned. _Glowered_. “He didn’t _convince_ me,” he spat, “to do anything. He needed help, so I helped. No thanks to you.”

Before he could pull away, the haze flew forward like a swarm of bees and yanked on his left hand. He stumbled down a step, gripping as hard as he could on the railing with his casted hand. The gray smoke made a loop around his wrist like an icy handcuff, and just as tight. He couldn’t pull away.

“Convinced or not,” Hazim said, cold mist brushing over the gauze, “your help comes with quite a hefty price.”

“And I’m willing to pay it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, _really_.”

“Then I am surprised at you, Yugi.” He grimaced – his name in that voice sounded carnivorous. “After he told you his intentions, I can’t imagine you were as easily swayed.”

He could be lying. Hazim could very easily be lying. He could have made this up on the spot to trip Yugi up – to make him paranoid.

But a very disturbing thought crawled into his mind as he remembered _Hazim has never lied to me before_.

“What are you talking about?” he risked asking.

The smoky cuff around his wrist went slack, as if surprised. Yugi took the opportunity to yank his hand back, and stumble backward a stair or two.

“So he _hasn’t_ told you?”

“Told me what?”

Hazim laughed. Bad sign. “Well, if _he_ hasn’t told you, then I certainly won’t be the one to ruin the surprise.”

Lying, then. Definitely lying.

“Whatever it is,” Yugi said, turning stiffly around and making his way up, “I’m sure it’s something I’ll be _happy_ to help him with.”

More laughing, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He really hoped it was an elaborate lie.

“I knew Al Sadat liked _games_ ,” Hazim said, just loud enough to hear, “but this seems awfully cruel. Even for him.”

Yugi pretended not to hear. Forced himself not to hear. He blocked it out, all of it. He was going to go inside, and spend the rest of his evening _without_ listening to the ramblings of a sinister ghost. He was going to listen to the ramblings of a _nice_ ghost, instead.

He didn’t even bother to make sure Hazim was gone before yanking the front door open.

“I’m home!” he called, louder than he needed to. He was half-calling it down the stairs, too.

“Indeed you are!” Atem called back, with matching unnecessary loudness. He sat on the floor at the head of the coffee table, legs crossed and floating high enough off the ground for him to reach the sketchbook lying open to yet another unfinished piece.

Just like that, Yugi relaxed, worries banished from the front of his mind. _Home_.

“What did you get up to today?” he asked in a normal volume this time, closing the door to put a solid barrier between himself and everything he didn’t want to think about.

“Nothing unexpected.”

Yugi kicked off his shoes. “Draw anything interesting?”

“Come see for yourself.”

He nearly skipped to the living room to plot himself down on the floor next to Atem. The ghost flipped back a page in the book. He pointed out a spider in its web with the closed pen in his left hand.

“This little thing,” he said, “made a home on the ceiling in your room.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t scare it off.”

“I cannot scare things if they cannot see me.”

Yugi eyed him quizzically. “You used your powers of invisibility to draw a spider?”

Atem pressed the tips of his fingers together. “It is _tremendously_ boring when you leave. The spider offered me a welcome challenge.”

“Can’t you just play a game?” He jerked his thumb at the bookshelf.

“Hardly any of them are fit for one player.”

“There’s also the console. And I _know_ you can use the TV.”

“After much trial and error, mind you.”

“But you _can_ use it.”

Atem rolled his eyes and flipped the page, but Yugi wasn’t giving up that easily. He gave the ghost his best encouraging nudge.

“So?” he asked. “Why don’t you cure your perpetual boredom with those?”

“I have tried,” Atem admitted, tracing one of his drawings with the capped end of the pen, “but they are not as enjoyable alone.”

Yugi almost felt bad. “Maybe I can teach you how to work online games. Tons of people to play with.”

“That… is not the point.”

“What do you mean?”

He hadn’t looked up from his drawing, tracing the lines over and over. “I meant they are not as enjoyable without _you_.”

Yugi gave a lopsided smile. “There’s not much I can do about _that_. I do still have to go to work.”

Atem waved his hand through the air. “I would never ask you to stay for _my_ sake, of course. And on the subject—” he looked up from the drawing, cautiously “—how did you fare, today?”

Yugi almost said _Fine_ , if only to assuage Atem’s obvious guilt. But he couldn’t ignore this. No more secrets.

“Not awesome,” he admitted. “I was pretty tired all day. I’m _still_ tired.”

“Do you need to rest?”

“Eventually. But I wanted to ask you about something first.”

Atem closed the sketchbook and folded his hands on the table. “Ask away.”

“What _exactly_ did I do for you this morning? Because I’m not just tired-tired. I feel like something’s _gone_.”

The ghost tapped his thumbs against his hands. He wasn’t making eye-contact anymore. “You are not entirely incorrect.”

Yugi didn’t respond, just motioned for Atem to continue.

“This morning, you offered yourself as an imperfect sacrifice.”

His blood ran cold. “I did _what_?”

Atem winced, hunching over like he was trying to shrink. “Imperfect, because you only offered as long as I needed help, and you never stated you were intending a sacrifice. I could not have taken more from you if I wanted to.”

“But what did you _take_?”

He pinched his eyes shut. “Part of your soul.”

Yugi turned over his left hand to stare his wrapped palm. “Oh.”

He tried not to think about Hazim.

“Please understand I never intended this for you, Yugi, and if I—if I had been in a better state—”

“Hey.” He laid his hand flat on the table, gauze on display. “It’s alright. I already told you I was okay with it.”

“Would you have been so eager if you had known what you were giving up?”

It was _almost_ an easy question.

“I’m not going to say it wouldn’t have mattered to know,” Yugi said, “but I still would have helped you. I know that for sure.”

Atem still wouldn’t look at him, staring at the injured hand instead. “If there was a way I could give it back…”

He reached out with that hand and grabbed one of the transparent ones, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t _want_ it back. If it helped you, I’m happy to give it up.”

“Part of your _soul_ , Yugi.”

“Yeah, part of my soul. But I get to keep you around. I’d say that’s a pretty good tradeoff.”

 The moment was ruined when Yugi’s stomach yowled impatiently. He took his hand back to wrap his arm across his stomach, as if that would silence it.

“Have you not eaten?” Atem asked, all guilt vanishing in favor of concern.

He hadn’t – not since lunch, anyway. “I’m about to,” he said, pushing up to stand. He surprised himself by wobbling.

“Do you need help?”

Yugi shook his head vigorously. “With cooking? No way.”

“Are you sure?”

He walked backward to the kitchen, slicing a hand across his throat for emphasis. “There is no way I am letting you near the stove. Or the oven. Or anything to do with heat. Not after last time.”

The ghost looked rather offended. “It was _once_ —”

“And once is enough! I’d like to keep the apartment standing, thank you.”

Atem grumbled about how the fire wasn’t _that_ big, but Yugi wasn’t willing to take even half a chance on having a two-hundred-year-old ghost in the kitchen ever again. He could make suggestions from the sidelines all he liked – nothing more.

Not that Yugi himself was in any better state to be handling anything more elaborate than preheating the oven at the moment. So that’s exactly what he did, prepping a meal that would cook itself in fifteen minutes. Easy.

Once in the oven, he set a timer and returned to the living room to flop down on the couch on his side, propping his cast up on the arm. He put his head down on the cushion and closed his eyes, doing his best to curl up without falling off. He exhaled, heavy, letting all the exhaustion he carried with him throughout the day melt away into the cushions.

“Is it wise,” Atem asked, “to sleep while you are preparing a meal?”

“I’m not going to sleep,” Yugi said. “I’m just resting.”

The ghost didn’t make any more protests. Or probably didn’t. Yugi couldn’t hear them, because he fell asleep. He only realized it when he was being shaken awake with a cold hand on his shoulder, the sound of the timer blaring in his ears.

“I told you,” Atem said. He backed up from the couch as Yugi stood.

“Told me what?”

“That you would fall asleep.”

“I didn’t hear you say that.”

A faint smile turned the corners of the ghost’s mouth. “Because you were asleep.”

Yugi made a face at him, then retreated to the kitchen to cut off the timer and retrieve his dinner. He was glad Atem hadn’t tried to go get it himself – somehow, he knew the entire kitchen would have been turned to ash the minute he touched the oven handle.

 Instead of bringing his food to the dinner table, Yugi decided to sit down on the floor and use the coffee table, back against the couch to prop up his tired body.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he said.

“Of course.” Atem looked up briefly from his sketchbook, pausing in the middle of a pen stroke. “I have to save the burning down of the house for myself, after all.”

“Please don’t?”

His only response was to smile into his art, continuing whatever his newest illustration was. Yugi leaned over to try and sneak a peek for himself.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A portrait.”

“Of me?”

“Who else?”

That was a fair point. “Can I see it?”

Atem turned the book sideways, so they could both look. “I started it while you were sleeping.”

The drawing was still in its beginning stages, only fifteen minutes’ worth of time having gone into it. The sleeping Yugi had his arm propped up on a jagged rock instead of a couch, his head resting on tiny black lines of grass blades. Instead of a decorated cast, his arm was covered in _real_ flowers and vines, tying their stems and roots between his fingers. They tangled in his hair and stretched across his back, covering him in a blanket of blossoms and leaves. The newest part of the sketch was the rough outline of a dove, perched delicately on the top of his head.

“This is so cool,” Yugi said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you change the setting before.”

Atem fixed one of his lines, rounding out the body of the dove. “I was inspired.”

“I can see _that_. It’s beautiful.”

He stopped drawing to smile at it. “Yes. I think so as well.”

For some reason, Yugi got the impression he wasn’t talking about the drawing. Could have been his imagination, but he could have sword he saw that doe-eyed look from before. The one that froze him solid.

But it was probably his imagination. Had to be.

Atem slid the drawing back and continued his sketching. “How was lunch this afternoon?”

Yugi shrugged, to get himself out of his own head and in response to the question. “Fine. It’s always nice hanging out with Aikawa and—” he stopped himself with a gasp when he remembered what _happened_ at lunch that day. “You’re never going to _believe_ who I ran into.”

“Oh?”

As Yugi rattled off the story about his (literal) run-in with Rebecca, he got a little worried as Atem’s expression started to sour. Nothing dramatic. Nothing hugely noticeable, even. But there was an almost palpable shift in his attitude, relaxed posture growing taut, brows slightly raised in what could either be genuine interest or a mockery of it.

“What a surprise,” he said. “It is remarkable she remembers you, after all this time.”

Yugi didn’t know what had created this tension, but he tried his best to alleviate it. “I couldn’t even remember her name for a while, which was _super_ awkward. Hopefully I won’t bump into her again.”

“’Hopefully’?”

“I don’t want to have to break the bad news if I can help it. I mean, she’s clearly interested in me and I just _don’t_ feel the same way at all.”

Yugi couldn’t tell if that was the right or wrong thing to say. Atem froze, relaxed, and tensed again. If his pen had been a pencil, and his form more solid, it would have been snapped in half.

“Are you alright?” Yugi asked, genuinely concerned.

Atem put his pen down and snapped the sketchbook shut, paining on a smile. “Perfectly fine.” Quick as a whip, he changed the subject. “Is your pitch not tomorrow? You should rest.”

Yugi almost repeated the question, but hesitated. Atem obviously wasn’t “perfectly fine.” But if he was this adamant about not talking about it, maybe it would be better to give him some space.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “Big day tomorrow.”

He scooped together the remains of his dinner, carrying it to the kitchen sink. Without another word, the ghost swept out of the room and down the hall. He _really_ didn’t want to talk about this.

_Alright_ , Yugi decided, _if it’s space he wants, I just won’t ask._

That course of action gave him haunting echoes of the last time he backed off on asking important questions, but he ignored it. If it was important, Atem would tell him. In time.

The bedroom was empty when he got there. Yugi reached up to the shelf to press against the crown – cold as death. Figures.

“Goodnight,” he told it. “I hope you feel better.”

And it wasn’t until Yugi had gotten changed, turned out the lights, and was nearly falling asleep that he got an answer, so quiet he was half-sure it was a dream.

“Me too.”

 

 

In the morning, it was as if the previous night had never happened. Yugi woke up with a tiny spring in his sleep-heavy step and found Atem was already waiting for him in the kitchen, humming to himself.  Yugi watched as the ghost pulled his favorite mug, setting it on the counter next to the sputtering coffee maker.

Wait.

“What did I say about touching things in the kitchen?” Yugi said in lieu of greeting.

“And good morning to you as well,” Atem replied, just shy of _singing_ it.

He leaned his hip on the counter and tilted his head curiously. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

The ghost plopped himself down on the counter, one leg hanging over the edge and swinging absentmindedly. “Is it not obvious?”

There was only one obvious thing happening today. “My pitch?”

“I told you it was obvious.”

The coffee maker beeped and Yugi took the opportunity to pour himself a steaming mug. “But it’s _my_ pitch, why are _you_ excited?”

“Am I barred from supporting you?”

“Of course not.”

Atem spread his hands as if to say _So there_. Yugi rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He lifted the mug to inspect the drink inside carefully.

“So dramatic,” Atem muttered. “The directions are listed on the back of machine,” he added, “you have nothing to _fear_.”

“I was just _checking_ ,” Yugi protested. “I don’t want to chug a bag of coffee grounds because you didn’t put enough water in.”

The ghost flicked opened a cupboard without looking away. “I am glad to know you hold me in such high esteem.”

“Only the highest.” He took a sip, and was satisfied to learn that he wasn’t going to have to dump the whole pot out.

Atem brought down a second mug from the cupboard before closing it again. He offered it forward. “A toast, then?”

“Mm?” Yugi took his nose out of his coffee. “To what?”

“Must I spell these things out for you?”

“When they don’t make _sense_ , yes.”

“To your game, obviously.”

Yugi blinked. “I haven’t even pitched it yet, we can’t celebrate it getting _accepted_ —”

Atem waved his free hand through the air dismissively. “There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that your pitch will not only go spectacularly, but that you will start development soon after.” He pushed the mug forward a little more. “So?”

If Yugi had half the confidence for himself that Atem did, he would never be afraid of anything ever again. Might as well try to soak up some of that energy. Pretending to be confident was the strategy, right?

He clinked their mugs together and said, “To my game.”

“And many more besides.”

Yugi took another drink, and could have sworn it had somehow gotten warmer.

Despite the ghost’s instance that he _definitely_ had time to do another practice run of his presentation, Yugi downed his mug and retreated to his room with the intention of getting ready for the day. He packed all his necessary electronics and the printed versions of his pitch document into a messenger bag, dropping it all by the front door.

“And what are you planning to wear?” Atem asked, once he got back into his room to change.

Yugi ran through imaginary outfits in his mind. “Something nice, for sure. I might just wear that purple outfit again.”

“With the vest?”

“Yeah, that one. I like that one.”

Atem looked excited enough to clap his hands. “Spectacular.”

It took some digging around, but eventually Yugi’s closet coughed up the outfit he’d worn for the interview that gave him his current job – lilac and silver spread out on his bed, just the same as last time. It felt like so long ago and like it had just happened at the same time.

“I’m not sure,” Yugi said, peeling off his shirt and working the sleeve around his cast, “I’m going to be able to wear that shirt with this thing.”

“Nonsense.”

Atem picked up the open dress shirt with a flourish, holding it out like an invitation. Yugi stuck his un-casted arm through the proper sleeve, and didn’t even have to look at the second sleeve to know it wouldn’t fit.

Before he could say anything, the ghost unbuttoned the sleeve and rolled it up past the elbow, carefully fitting the bulky cast through the wider opening. “Not perfect,” he admitted, “but it is better than nothing.”

Yugi worked out the folds in the twisted fabric of the sleeve. “I can’t wait until this thing comes off.”

“It does seem to be a nuisance.”

“At least it’s not an eyesore.”

The ghost brushed behind him to collect the next article of clothing. “Small victories.”

Facing the mirror, Yugi buttoned up his shirt and, not for the first time, wondered if they’d let him _keep_ his cast when it got taken off. It didn’t sound like too crazy a request, even if it would smell like sweat and plastic for a little while. He had no idea where he’d put it, either, but it was going to be somewhere _noticeable_. On display, like the piece of art it was.

 The rest of the outfit was a relatively easy to put on – the vest had wide sleeves and he didn’t have a cast on his legs. But the _tie_ was absurd.

It was an unexpected difficulty. With one arm locked in an awkward position, unable to bend any farther down than the shoulder, Yugi was essentially trying to tie it with one hand. Which was not working. At all.

“I,” he growled, “ _hate_ this thing,”

“Allow me.”

Atem swung around in front of him and took both ends of the tie in his hands. His smile was tight, like he was trying not to laugh.

“I’m glad _somebody_ is getting something out of this,” Yugi said.

He snickered his way through tying the knot. “I mean nothing by it—”

“Uh-huh. Laugh it up.”

“Oh, _hush_.”

The knot of the tie was cinched up to Yugi’s throat, and Atem leaned back to inspect his work. He frowned.

“That does not look right,” he muttered, leaning back in to mess with the shape of the knot.

 Yugi didn’t know if this was anything like the gauze situation, but he _did_ know they didn’t have time to fool around. He already had to be at the studio early, and the morning traffic got monumental on the way into the heart of Domino.

“I’m sure it looks fine,” he said, gently prying the cold hands away from his neck. Like magnets, they were drawn right back.

“Just a moment, please.”

He tried again, this time forcing Atem’s hands off of him, and trapping them in his own. “Thank you, but I have to leave. I can get someone to fix it when I get to work.”

Yugi pushed away and let the hands go, out the bedroom door in a hurry.

He was halfway down the hall when he learned Atem had other ideas.

“The knot is crooked,” he insisted, voice following Yugi down the hall.

Yugi reached up to feel it for himself, not stopping in his trek. “No, it isn’t.”

“If you could see—”

“You already fixed it!”

He jammed on his dress shoes at the door, and turned around to see Atem floating up, with his arms outstretched. "And it needs to be fixed again."

"It's _fine._ "

Yugi tried to slap away the transparent hands, but the ghost followed his movements. Atem brought both sets of their hands around in a loop before reaching out again. "Just let me—"

"I already _let you_." He forced Atem's hands to his sides, which were promptly planted on his hips in loose fists.

"Really now?"

Yugi just shook his head good-naturedly. "Good _bye_ , Atem."

He turned around, but only got that far.

The second he wasn't paying attention, a ghostly hand reached over his shoulder and yanked him back around by the length of the tie. He stumbled forward, throwing out his arms for balance, as the other transparent hand got to work with the neatly tied knot, as if trying to find an invisible imperfection. 

Atem wasn't looking at him, singularly focused. Yugi, however, couldn't look anywhere else, sucking his arms back to his sides.

They were… close. Really close. He could see the details of the transparent crown, and the thin strands of dark hair. He could feel cold radiate off Atem and onto his face. It didn't stop the heat from rushing there anyway. 

"There," the ghost said, satisfied. “That took no time at all.”

He didn't let go. Instead, he let his eyes wander up from the knot to Yugi's face. Yugi felt himself smile and spread his arms like he was presenting his outfit again.

"Is it tied to your liking, Your Majesty?" he said, and _swore_ to himself he didn't mean to sound so coy. But decided to go along with it anyway.

Atem didn’t breathe, but somehow became breathless all the same. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Yes.”

He glanced down at his tie, where it was still being gripped, and then back up. “Are you going to let go, then?”

As if the fabric had suddenly caught fire, Atem let go and scooted away. “Right! Yes. Sorry. About that. I—I, uh…”

Yugi folded has his hands behind his back and leaned against the door, far too pleased with himself. “You what?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He nodded politely. “I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you.” Yugi retrieved his messenger bag from the floor, slung it around his shoulder, and waved. “See you tonight.”

Atem just waved back, and Yugi couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face as he opened the door and stepped out.

He didn’t get very far, shutting the door and immediately pressing back against it to release all the air in his lungs in a single huff.

_What am I doing_? he asked himself. _What in the world am I doing_?

The part of his brain that liked to play dumb answered, _Going to work_. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and was surprised to find he was still smiling.

“Whatever,” he muttered, forcing himself down the stairs and into his car. He had important places to be. He could psychoanalyze himself later.

But he wore a little smile the entire drive.

 

 

The pitch went smoothly and Yugi was assured he’d hear whether or not it was considered within the month. That was the easy part. The rest of the day was dedicated to the game currently in the pipeline, and _crunching_.

As much as Yugi loved his job, crunching was undoubtedly the worst part about it. Several months of sixty- to eighty-hour weeks, hardly breaking to eat, doing fifty things at once, and not getting out of the office until he was dead on his feet. Most people just slept in the break room – camping out with blankets and pillows, because there was only so much space on the couch or chairs that were comfortable – but Yugi always made a point to sleep at home. No matter how late it was, he would drag himself away from his desk and force his tired eyes open on the drive, if only to get home at _all_ during the week.

Today was no different, even after the relative success of his pitch. Yugi gulped down a Styrofoam cup of break room coffee to keep himself awake and wobbled out the door. His dressy outfit had gone from sharp to rumpled throughout the day, and hadn’t even bothered to keep his shirt tucked into his slacks. It was late, he was tired, and the tie – hanging more like a necklace at this point – was coming off as soon as he was in a place he wouldn’t lose it.

Actually, he didn’t have any idea what time it was. He just knew the sun had set far too long ago to worry about anything else but sleep. Sitting down in the driver’s seat of his car only reminded him of how much he wanted to not be sitting. He’d done far too much sitting today. It was time to lay down, and never get up.

He forced himself to pay attention to the road instead of spacing out, the coffee working slowly through his tired system until he was able to keep his eyes open without too much difficulty. Even still, the drive seemed to take twice as long, the street getting impossibly long before his eyes. It was as if the more he wanted to get home, the more the universe conspired to make sure he never got there.

And he did want to go home. He _very much_ wanted to go home. He needed to be out of the studio and destress and talk out his problems to something other than the rubber duck on his desk – a tip taken from the programmers. Preferably to something that could talk back. Some _one_. Maybe even a specific someone.

He already wanted to talk about how his pitch went, because he knew it would be the first question out of Atem’s mouth when he walked in the door. But more than that, he wanted to just _talk_. About things unrelated to work. About stupid things that didn’t matter. About anything. He wanted a break.

And then sleep. He wanted sleep especially.

Despite the endless-seeming road, Yugi did turn into his driveway eventually. He cut off the engine and flopped back in his seat for a few seconds before convincing his tired body to open the door and stand. He dragged his feet up the steps, messenger bag hastily thrown over one side. It hung lighter now that his pitch documents had been handed out, but it was an unneeded weight all the same. Every step up reminded him where he was going, and made him more and less exhausted at the same time.

Once at the top of the stairs, he fumbled his key into the lock and paused mid-turn.

What in the world was that _smell_?

That… _burning_ smell.

Yugi’s priorities quickly shifted from, “finding a place to sleep,” to, “finding out how much of the house was on fire.” He turned the key the rest of the way and yanked the door open, a jolt shooting down his spine when the smell got stronger. He dropped his things on the floor and didn’t even bother closing the door before rushing in.

“What’s going on?” he called, and then choked on the thick smell of charred rice.

He didn’t get a verbal response, but several loud _clangs_ and muffled curses floated in from the kitchen. Yugi started putting the pieces together.

“Atem?” he tried again, crossing the living room. “What’s going on?”

He had a pretty good idea of what was going on, actually, but that didn’t stop his jaw from hitting the floor when he stepped into the kitchen.

Three different pots and their matching lids were strewn about the counter. One was knocked over, revealing black and brown sludge stuck to the bottom and the sides – which didn’t bode well for the contents of the other two. And nor did it bode well for the _fourth_ , sitting on the stove under the highest flame the stove would allow. And _nor_ did it bode well for the ghost, standing over the mess and glaring, as if that would somehow fix the problem.

The first thing Yugi did when he regained his self-control was lunge forward, trying not to gag as he cut the flame off.

“ _What_ did I say about the kitchen?” he said, only half scolding as he vacated the fourth pot of burned rice from the stove – there was no mistaking that smell, and they all reeked of it.

Atem was still glaring, as if the poor kitchenware hadn’t been subjected to enough heat. “I know,” he said, grinding his teeth together.

Yugi put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s not so bad. The house is still standing, and nothing’s ruined forever.” He tried not to look at the damage to closely to confirm it. “Just make sure I’m home the next time you want to practice?”

Atem stopped frowning to sigh into one hand. “It is not only that.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“I did not attempt this for my own sake.” He righted the pot that had gotten knocked over, dragging his fingers along the edge forlornly. “I was hoping to celebrate a bit more, but as you can see—” he gestured all around “—it did not go as planned.”

Yugi let his hand drop, at the same time as his heart. “You didn’t have to. I eat the food they hand out at studio during crunch, remember?”

“And you often remark on the poor quality of it.”

That wasn’t wrong – the “food” handed out was the saltiest, least-nutritious, and (most importantly) cheapest snack food they could buy in bulk. It was better than going hungry, but it wasn’t exactly a meal.

“Maybe,” he said, “I can show you how to cook rice _correctly_ sometime.”

Atem snorted. “There is a good chance I am a lost cause.”

“Nah, it’s easy once you get the hang of it.” He tried an encouraging smile, leaning around slightly so Atem could see. “You’ll figure it out, okay? _We’ll_ figure it out.”

Atem tried valiantly to keep his sour expression, but the corners of his mouth twitched and soon there was no going back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. And now—” Yugi picked up the first pot within arm’s reach “—we’re going to clean up.”

“We?”

Yugi plopped the pot in the sink and arched a brow at the ghost beside him. “Don’t think you’re getting away with not helping.”

Maintaining eye contact, Atem flicked on the faucet. He stuck his hand in the flow, the water passing right through as if he wasn’t even there. “How, exactly?”

Also refusing to break eye contact, Yugi plucked a towel from the rack on the wall, ran it under the stream of hot water, and handed it over. “You can clean the stove.”

“Far better than you, in all likelihood.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Only if you take it.”

They stared each other down, not moving, not blinking, not giving any ground.

“We should get started,” Yugi said.

Atem took the towel from him, finally. “Indeed.”

Neither of them moved.

That is, not until Yugi finally broke, leaning over the counter to laugh into the sink, Atem joining him soon after. Their laughter bounced off the walls and counters and disgusting pots to replay in Yugi’s ears, and he honestly couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier at the prospect of doing the dishes.

Once they actually got going, the clean-up wasn’t too bad. Yugi had to use most of the dish soap at his disposal to clean the first couple of pots. He had to wrap his cast in an old plastic bag to deal with the water and gross used-to-be-rice, but it was nothing a bit of scrubbing couldn’t solve. And a lot of hot water. And baking soda.

Atem had struggles of his own, finding out that if he scrubbed too hard with the towel, he’d pass right through it _and_ the stove. It took some trial and error, but he did figure out a way to work around his incorporeal nature, and decided he would clean the countertops as well.

Mostly, it was a lot of repetitive tasks. And even though Yugi would much rather be sleeping, he took the time to do the second thing on his list: complain about work.

“—and I swear I’ve been working on that same section for sixty cumulative hours. The level designers probably hate me for it, but it’s just. So. _Ridiculous_.” He took out his aggression of a particularly nasty chunk of burnt food. “I’d hate to scrap it after all this work, but I’m not sure we’ll have a choice.”

“Is the problem technical?” Atem asked, swiping the counter in gentle circles.

“Kind of? It just has so much going on in it. It’s cool on paper and everyone agreed with the _concept_ , but in practice it probably should have been thrown out in beta.”

“Can you make the sacrifice without needless grief?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Besides wasting all that work? It’s doable. I could take it up with the creative lead again, but I’m not sure he’d budge.”

The ghost leaned over to re-soak his towel, a thoughtful look on his face. “I am sure it would not hurt to at least bring up your consistent difficulties.”

“I guess. It’s weird, because in the past, I’ve been able to make things like this work for the most part. But it’s giving me so much trouble.” He rinsed out the pot a couple times, swirling the soapy water around and watching it lap against the sides. “When do I _stop_? When do I give up and just accept defeat?”

Atem squeezed the extra water out of the towel. “It is not _defeat_. You tried your best, did you not?”

“Obviously.”

“There you are, then. Sometimes, there are situations that have no solutions. Even if you try your best to find one.”

Yugi didn’t want to touch that fragile tone in his voice. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll bring it to the lead tomorrow and see if he wants to scrap it or hand it off to someone else.”

He shook the pot a bit before setting it off to the side, lined up next to the other three on more towels stretched out over the counter. He cut the sink off and looked around. “Is that everything?”

“I believe it is.”

Yugi shucked the bag off his cast, and stretched his arms over his head. “Yay, finally.” He looked over at the line of drying dishes. “I can’t believe you used four pots instead of the rice cooker.”

“The _what_?”

Yugi jerked his head around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Atem was staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the movement of cleaning the counter.

“The rice cooker,” Yugi repeated. “You know. The thing I cook rice in.”

Slowly, like it was painful, Atem closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

“You didn’t _forget_ , did you?”

He held up a single finger. “Not. A word.”

Yugi covered his smile with his hand. “You totally forgot.”

“I said _not a word_.”

He threw his hands up in surrender, turning around as if that would help keep his laughter down. “I won’t say anything about it. Promise.”

Nope. He absolutely wasn’t going to say anything about the fact that _Atem_ _forgot_ _I had a rice cooker, oh my god—_

An undignified snort escaped him and he had to slap his hand over his mouth again, using the other to prop himself up on the counter. His shoulders shook with the effort of staying quiet.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Atem asked, bitter as his burned rice.

Yugi had to take several long breaths before he could respond properly. “For the record, I’m not laughing _at_ you.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Come on, it’s a little funny.”

“Immensely.” He didn’t sound amused in the slightest.

Yugi turned around, now that he was calm enough to stand up straight. “Aw, don’t be like tha— _argh_!” Something cold and wet slapped him across the face and stuck there. He peeled it off – it was a towel.

“Oh dear,” Atem said, leaning on the counter, and noticeably towel-less. “It seems to have gotten away from me.”

Yugi chucked the towel in the sink, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’re so—”

_Perfect_ , his brain supplied.

 “—ridiculous,” he blurted, nearly choking on what he _almost_ said. _Why did I almost say that_? _Why the_ fuck _did I almost say that?_

He wasn’t panicking. But this didn’t feel like _not_ panicking.

“Yugi?”

He leapt out of his skin. “Huh? Yeah?” His voice was an octave higher than usual. He cleared his throat.

Atem blinked, taken-aback. “You looked frightened. Is everything alright?”

_Nope._ “Yeah, totally. I’m good.”

“Good.”

Yugi walked away in what he hoped was a normal fashion. “I think it’s about time I went to bed.”

“Right. It is quite late.”

He felt a rush of cold air at his back, and the comfort he normally felt was quickly overshadowed by a lot of frantic thoughts and too many feelings he hadn’t ever noticed, and he was _definitely_ panicking now.

“Are you _sure_ you are feeling alright?” Atem asked, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Yugi resisted the urge to shake the hand off and tried to resist the resistance. In the end, he let it stay. “I’m okay, really. Sorry, I just… remembered something that spun me up.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Five different parts of his mind started speaking at once: _Yes. No. Maybe. Hopefully_. _Please don’t_. His mouth, ironically, was glued shut.

“I am not sure how much help I can be,” Atem continued, and his hand moved from Yugi’s shoulder, down his arm and to his hand – and he hated it and loved at the same time and it was _really difficult_ to think straight right now – “but I will try, if you ask it of me.”

_Bad_ , Yugi thought, _bad, bad, bad. No. Bad._

“I appreciate it,” he said, picking his words carefully, “but I think it’s something I need to think over by myself.”

Atem nodded, smiled, and floated away. Yugi was pretty sure he died a little.

He went through the motions of getting ready for bed with glassy, distracted eyes, looking everywhere except the elephant in the room. The elephant himself was content to give Yugi his space, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he could hold a conversation without running away in his current state. At the same time, not talking was a chore. He felt like a shaken-up soda, ready to burst at any moment. He thought it would be impossible to sleep when he finally lied down.

But he did sleep. And when he woke up, everything was different.

Not practically different. If anything, his morning was exactly the same as it always was. Atem was sketching in the living room when he woke up, they said good morning, he made coffee, they had a conversation, he got ready for work.

What was different was his perspective. It was like he’d taken a new pair of glasses to the entire world, and details that he’d never seen before were suddenly clear. And he wished _,_ more than _anything_ else, that he could take them off again.

Yugi had never noticed the lightness in his voice when he greeted Atem in the morning – or how it was returned. He never noticed how easy it was to smile, how much he liked seeing _Atem_ smile, He never noticed the reasons why he had to force himself to his room to change – how hard it was to stand up, and why. He never noticed how much all of it meant to him, or why he looked forward to coming home at the end of every day. Not just to be _home_. But to _come_ home.

As in, come home to Atem.

Frankly, he was terrified. This _couldn’t_ happen. That wasn’t _supposed_ to happen. His childish infatuation was supposed to go away, not become something else – something stronger. None of this was supposed to happen. He wasn’t _supposed_ to feel this way.

Atem was _dead_. He was dead, he was a _ghost_. There was no way perusing this would end well. For either of them. Yugi had already dedicated himself to helping Atem pass on, and if he let this feeling fester, he would only hurt himself even worse. And if Atem couldn’t pass on? Yugi would die, too. He would end up leaving _Atem_ behind instead of the other way around.

And maybe this point was more of a frantic grasping at straws, but Atem was _married_. He had a wife, somewhere in the afterlife. Wherever she was, she was probably waiting for her husband, and it wouldn’t be fair of Yugi to conveniently forget about that detail for his own gain. And for all he knew, Atem might be wanting to go _back_ to her.

There were too many reasons this couldn’t happen – _shouldn’t_ happen. He didn’t even want to consider the field day Hazim would have if…

No. He wasn’t going to think about it.

But he did have to do something. Quickly. Before this got out of hand. Before he did something stupid. Before he said something wrong.

Yugi thought all of this in the front seat of his car on his lunch break, in the KCStudios parking lot. There was no way he was actually going to get lunch – he felt nauseous at the thought of eating – but he needed a place to think. A place to come up with an idea. Of some way to fix this. Or if it was impossible to fix, to get him back on the proper track. He’d get over it, eventually. He _had_ to get over it.

He snorted at himself, and dragged his hands down his face. How in the world was he supposed to do that? Get a punching bag? Magically summon a person to project all his feelings toward instead of Atem?

He pulled out his phone to check how much time he had left to stress himself out – lunch breaks were shortened during crunch – and paused. The gears in his head started turning.

He had an idea. It was terrible. It wasn’t fair. It wouldn’t work, and he knew it wouldn’t work.

But Yugi opened his phone. He scrolled down through his contacts. He selected the person he was looking for, and pressed the call button. It went right to voicemail, but he was grateful for that.

The nauseous feeling only rose to the front of his mouth when he said, “Hey, Rebecca…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) the entire first half of this chapter is: “i’d die for you” “not if i die for you first” and then they go “haha cool” and never talk about it again
> 
> 2) if you ask to go with someone to work, is that you asking them out, or is that you asking them to ask you out? a friend wants to know
> 
> 3) yugi: sure i would date you   
> atem: oh!  
> yugi: haha but like. as a friend,   
> atem: oh…   
> (yugi’s brain: unless?)
> 
> 4) uh oh


	10. Exorcism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY DON’T WORRY I’M ALIVE!!! I got a full-time job and it’s been eating away at my life (gotta “”””love”””” capitalism), but I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS FIC OR ANY OF MY OTHERS!! PINKY PROMISE, u just gotta be patient with me~
> 
> additionally: I am absolutely blown away by the positive feedback this fic continues to get, I love you all and I hope u find $20 on the ground today <3
> 
> without further ado: pain!!!

The stone in his throat had since dropped to his stomach.

Coming home from work, Yugi hoped to delay the inevitable conversation as long as time would allow, but the idea of waiting until the last minute felt almost as bad as the idea of having it as soon as possible. Almost.

He didn’t end up getting a choice in the matter. After sitting down with his first real meal of the day at ten o’clock at night, Yugi almost nearly choked on it when Atem asked, “Did you discuss plans with Jou for this weekend?”

The ghost hovered by the table, fixing up his most recent art project, a chair away from where Yugi sat trying not to have a conniption. “What?”

“You had only mentioned it. Earlier this week.” Atem continued to sketch, even as his looks up from the page became more frequent and apprehensive.

It clearly wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, and every organ in Yugi’s body twisted at the underlying knowledge.

“No,” he finally answered, “I didn’t talk to Jou.” It was such a _painfully_ qualifying statement, all things considered. He shoveled more of his dinner into his mouth for an excuse to stop talking.

Atem didn’t seem to pick up on it. “Ah, another time then?”

“Mhmm.”

The conversation fell away into what _would_ have been a nice, _normal_ , companionable silence. But Yugi couldn’t stop bouncing his leg, or picking at his nails, or staring intently at an odd shape in the polished wood of the table, only remembering to blink when his eyes dried out.

Holding this back was painful. But how much worse would saying it _out loud_ be?

“You are not well.”

Yugi looked up, forcing a confused smile. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were falling on deaf ears. Atem sat with his hands folded politely on the cover of sketchbook, now closed on his lip. He had a kind-but-firm look on his face that said, _I’m not going to let this go so easily_.

“You have been awfully quiet,” Atem said. “And you have that look about you.”

“’That look’?”

The ghost passed a hand across his face. “You have a certain expression when something is picking away at you. You gaze ahead at nothing.” 

Yugi wanted to prove him right and stare at the table again, but he restrained the urge by clenching his hands into fists. “I was just thinking about other stuff.”

“Is this ‘other stuff’ bothering you?”

 _Yes_. “No, I’m okay. Promise.”

The sketchbook hit the table and slid across the surface. Atem lowered himself until he was level with Yugi, kneeling in mid-air just above the floor.

“I understand if you do not wish to speak about it,” he said, with a smile that was halfway sad, “but do not think you can lie to me.”

Yugi stared through Atem – literally – to focus on where the wall met the floor behind him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“If it bothers you this much, of _course_ it is.”

A cold hand brushed against the clenched knuckles of Yugi’s fist, coaxing it to relax, to open. He hurriedly pulled it into his lap.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. Then added, “I’m just nervous.”

“Whatever for?”

Yugi might have been able to come up with a decent lie if he wasn’t so spun up, but there wasn’t _anything_ about this that wasn’t twisting him into knots.

So he hoped he looked at least marginally casual when he said, “I’m seeing someone this weekend.”

Atem’s calm smile turned lopsided. “I thought you told me Jou could not—”

“It’s not Jou. I’m—I have a date. This weekend.”

Yugi tried very hard to not to notice the tidal wave of poorly concealed shock wash across Atem’s face.

“A d—With who?” the ghost asked.

Yugi tried to be nonchalant. “That girl from before, Rebecca.”

“But you said you were not interested.”

 _That_ was still true. “I’m not, but it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone, and I have a stable job now. I figured this was a sign I should start looking for someone to settle down with. Why not, right?”

He tried a laugh. It dropped like the stone still rolling around in his stomach.

Atem was completely expressionless. “I see. I am sure it will be fine.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, the ghost retrieved his sketchbook, and opened it back up stiffly. Yugi returned to his food, refusing to acknowledge the spiral he could _feel_ himself tumbling down.

Atem stared at his current drawing for a long moment. Then, he flipped the page, presumably to start over.

In the milliseconds between the discarded page hit the back of the book, Yugi saw a flash of flowers, vines, and feathers. He slouched deep into his chair, and wished he could take it all back.

He didn’t take it back, though. And the remainder of the week dragged its feet, every hour of every day ticking by like molasses, and all the while Yugi couldn’t tell if he was being avoided or the one doing most of the avoiding.

It was as if someone had hit the rewind button on his life. He was picking his words carefully again, glancing over his shoulder, startling at unexpected – that is to say, _ghostly_ – movements.

Atem was faring no better, by the looks of it. He shocked himself into partial invisibility every time Yugi got home from work, and had taken to keeping his art close to his chest again. Literally and figuratively, refusing to show it off and not taking any chances on an accidental glance.

Yugi wasn’t sure whether he wanted the week to end faster or take its time. On one hand, he desperately wanted things to go back to how they were – even with his terrible knowledge – but the weekend meant he had to fulfill his commitment. And that might be even worse than the anticipation of it.

He tried to convince himself otherwise when his feet hit the floor on Friday morning. One day to go.

 _It’s not the apocalypse_ , he thought, scowling into his morning cup. _You’re going to spend two hours with someone and then go home. Maybe not even_ that _long_.

But there was a possibility it could be _longer_ , too, and he dreaded the thought. He and Rebecca had agreed to dinner downtown, but she had mentioned something about a movie as well. His head hadn’t been all the way screwed on when he got her call back – he was just agreeing to whatever she said, hardly listening to anything but the blood rushing in his ears.

 _Hopefully it’s just dinner_. He resisted the urge to cross his fingers and pray.

“You look ill.”

Yugi nearly sloshed his coffee all over his lap at Atem’s voice at his side. He pasted on a smile. “Thinking about tomorrow. I’m still a little nervous, I guess.”

The ghost smiled with practiced politeness. “You have nothing to worry about. I am sure it will all go smoothly.”

This conversation was shaping up to be the lengthiest one in days. The most _normal_ one in days.

“You’re probably right,” Yugi said. And while he could have ended it there, a greedy, guilty part of him continued. “But it’s been _years_ since I’ve been on a real date with anyone. I hardly know what I’m supposed to _wear_ , much less what to say to her.”

“I am not sure how much help I can provide,” Atem said, still agonizingly polite, “but if it is any comfort, I have confidence in your performance.”

He had to get things back to a _fraction_ of normalcy. He _had_ to. “Do you want to help with the outfit and solve one of those problems for me?”

“I would really rather not.”

Atem didn’t move, didn’t go invisible, didn’t even change his expression. But his response was immediate, colder than ice. Of all the things that could have happened, Yugi could not have imagined a worse reaction. It chipped away at his careful composure.

“Okay,” he said, and almost cursed when his voice cracked.

Atem’s polite façade – because that’s all it had ever been – evaporated. He replaced it with something kinder, more sincere. “I only meant that it is a night for _you_ , yes? I would not want to… impede on a decision you are making for yourself.”

“By helping me pick my outfit?”

“How you present yourself is an important part of who you are. I would not want my own opinions to misrepresent you. Or what you desire from your outing.”

Atem was speaking in code. Yugi could hear the weight in his words, as benign as they seemed. He wasn’t confident in a direct translation, but the meaning was there. Hinted at, suggested, all but laid bare before him.

He wanted to cry.

But he didn’t. He just nodded and smiled and went about his day. As if it were any other Friday. As if nothing in the world could possibly wrong.

It wasn’t the apocalypse, sure. But it felt like the end of something.

 

 

“…and I know he means well, but sometimes it’s just like, _God, please_ talk about _anything_ else but your job. You know what I mean?”

Yugi did not know. He hardly remembered who Rebecca was talking about, preoccupied with tracing the base of his glass and trying not to check his phone for the time every three minutes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know _so_ many people like that.”

She didn’t seem to notice his mental absence, putting her chin in her hand and tossing a curl of blonde over her shoulder. “Like, I don’t talk about _my_ job when I call him. I talk about my _actual life_. The stuff _normal_ people care about. But it’s like he’s either at work or asleep and nothing happens in between.”

That coaxed a knowing laugh from his stupor. “Been there.”

“Wow, you’re relating to my _Grandpa_?”

Ah. That’s right. Her grandfather.

“Why not?” he said. “I got along great with my grandfather.”

“We get _along_ , but I’m not going to pretend like we have anything in common. Like, I’m a web designer, and he still has his nose five-thousand years _underground_ in Egypt.”

Yugi’s ears pricked up at the sound of a topic he could actually talk about with some interest. At the same time, he hated _why_ he was interested. “Is that where he studies?”

“It’s practically where he _lives_ – in a tomb of some ancient dead guy, trying to figure out how many goats he owned or whatever.”

Before he could decide to be offended by or ignore her dismissive tone of voice, the waiter returned with two steaming hot plates of food. Yugi mumbled his thanks, and started eating almost as soon as the plate was set down in front of him. His master plan was to scarf down his food as fast as he could without making himself sick, finish the date early, and go home. And apologize.

He’d gotten this far by reminding himself what he was doing this _for_. Getting used to _this_ would save him endless heartbreak. And ethereal nastiness.

“What about you?” Rebecca asked.

Yugi finished the giant scoop of rice he’d shoveled into his mouth before responding. “What _about_ me?”

She twirled a blonde lock of hair around her finger. “Anything, really. You said you get along with your grandfather, right?”

“Got,” he corrected. “He’s not around anymore.”

Her smile fell to a sympathetic frown. “Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

A silence grew.

“What about work?” she tried again. Yugi felt like he was being prodded by a finger hell-bent on annoying him to death.

“I’m a game designer,” he answered, “for KCStudios.”

“That’s cool!” Rebecca sat forward in her chair, an invitation to continue. He almost sighed.

“It’s my dream job, honestly. I love it.”

It was as true as anything he could ever say, but he could barely muster the energy to sound enthusiastic about it. He just kept thinking about how much he wanted to go _home_ already. And feeling guilty about it, because he asked _her_ out in the first place.

 “What does a game designer _do_?” Rebecca asked. “Like, I know what a video game is, don’t worry. But what’s it like to _make_ one? What’s your process?”

“I don’t it all myself,” he said. “There’s a whole team of people working with me. Other game designers, artists, writers, programmers.”

“But _designer_ has a weight to it, right? You’re, like, an important guy.”

“I lead people in the right direction and make sure everything is working smoothly, but everyone in the studio is important. I’m one of the people who gets the most credit, I guess, but—” He made a circular gesture with one hand. “—it’s a group effort.”

Rebecca put her chin in her hand. “I can’t tell if you’re just being modest, or if you really think that way.”

Yugi laughed shortly. “I really think that way, believe it or not.” He gestured to her. “What about your job? You’re a web designer?”

“ _Lead_ web designer, actually.” She perked up and folded her hands on the table like she was about to give a speech. “I just got promoted last week.”

“Congratulations.”

Either she didn’t notice his forced enthusiasm, or ignored it. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“Oh?”

That was all it took for her to launch into an elaborate tale about the office politics of wherever she worked, and Yugi pretended to pay attention while he returned to inhaling his dinner. It took all he had not to slyly check his phone under the table to see what time it was, and when it would be appropriate to excuse himself.

The thought made him guiltier than he already felt. Because as Rebecca carried on, he really could see himself being casual friends with her. Not close, certainly not romantic, but casual. She was nice, and they had some computer geek things in common. Plus, even if _she_ didn’t seem to be too interested in her grandfather’s work, it might be nice to have someone else who could relate to having a grandfather with his nose buried in the sand – literally.

But there was no denying the fact that he just _didn’t_ want to be here.

Against his wishes, dinner dragged on, though he was positive it wasn’t as long as it felt. They traded conversation back and forth, but it was nothing mind-blowing. Simple questions about work, pets, or hobbies – safe, first-date topics. Nothing that took Yugi’s mind off everything he was feeling. He wasn’t sure anything could have. 

As the evening crawled to a close, Yugi found that eating his dinner fast wasn’t the smart plan after all. It meant he got to watch Rebecca finish her own, with a clear plate and no excuse left not to contribute to the conversation.

“I’ve always liked games, I guess,” he said, finishing off a detailed account of his childhood of having his face glued to a screen or to pieces of cardboard. “Old habits die hard.”

“I’ve never been into games _that_ much _,_ ” Rebecca said, “but I like strategy, and I can beat _anyone_ at poker.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I haven’t played poker in a while.”

“Why’s that?”

Yugi smiled, despite his sour mood. “My friends got sick of me beating them.”

She laughed, a bit harder than was warranted. “That’s _awesome_!”

“It was fun while it lasted.”

“You know,” she said, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger, “we should probably find out who the better player is.”

Yugi tried to shove away the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Sure. Maybe another time.”

She stopped tracing, looking up at him confused. “Why not tonight?”

“Uh. I don’t think this is—”

“We’re still going to your place for the movie, right? Unless you don’t have any cards.”

The sinking feeling turned into a drowning feeling.

“Oh!” he said, feigning a sudden recollection. “Right, that totally slipped my mind. Maybe after the movie, sure.”

He must have been convincing, because she perked up like an excited dog. “Great! I guess I should finish eating, in that case.”

“Take your time. No rush here.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a lie.

True to her word, Rebecca finished eating, and Yugi flagged down their waiter for the tab. He was hoping the silence that grew in the wake of the interruption would continue, but sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

“What kind of movies do you like?” Rebecca asked. “I figured it would be best to pick something now, y’know?”

“Sure,” Yugi agreed. “I like horror, mostly.”

She shivered. “I’m a total horror-movie-wimp, ghosts freak me out too much.”

“Why?”

“They’re _creepy_. I hate the idea of someone watching me when I can’t see then.”

 _You get used to it_ , he thought. “They’re just movies. It’s fun when you can spot the CGI and costume mistakes. It kills all the tension.”

She considered this, chewing on her bottom lip. “I guess. But don’t you like… believe in ghosts?”

Yugi believed in ghosts more than anyone had _ever_ believed in ghosts.

“A little,” he said. “It’s fun to think about.”

“A spirit wandering for eternity is ‘fun to think about?’”

 It was the opposite of fun. He had a first-hand account of how unfun it was. “It’s a cool idea, I mean. Why, do _you_ believe in ghosts?”

Rebecca looked at him very seriously. “I’ve been haunted before.”

He blinked, taken-aback. “Really?”

“The house I grew up in was totally haunted. The doors would always slam, there were cold spots everywhere, and there was a creepy locked room in the basement that we _never_ opened. It was so freaky.”

Yugi wasn’t sure if his own haunting was grounds to call bullshit or a reason believe everything she was saying. He’d only met two ghosts, but that meant there were probably _more_ , right? Maybe his ghosts were outliers in the tradition of haunting people’s houses.

“Weird,” he said, simplifying his opinion on more than just her story.

The universe did Yugi a solid, and the waiter returned with the check and his card at that very moment. He signed the receipt and stood up. “Ready to go?”

Rebecca hopped to her feet. “Yep!”

He led her out the door of the restaurant and to his car, opening the door for her both times. Just because he didn’t want to be on this date didn’t mean he was going to be a _jerk_ about it.

He took his time walking around to the driver’s side. He filled his lungs with as much air as they could hold and let it out in a slow stream. He could do this. It was just a movie. He didn’t even have to say anything. It was just a movie.

A movie in his apartment with his ghost roommate who didn’t seem too jazzed that he was on a date in the first place. But it would be over soon. Quick and painless. Mostly.

 _Remember why this is happening_ , he thought. _This is way better than the alternative._

It wasn’t much of a confidence boost, but it did force him to move. Yugi got in the car, smiled to his passenger, and started down the road back home.

The ride back consisted of picking out what movie to watch. Though Yugi tried to steer away from horror to spare Rebecca’s sanity, she kept going _back_ to scary movies – ghosts, demons, possessions. Everything she said she hated.

“I thought you said you didn’t like horror movies,” he pointed out.

“I said I was a _wimp_ ,” she corrected. “It’s kind of fun to be scared sometimes.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Yugi combed his brain for the shortest horror movies he could come up with. In the end, Rebecca’s choice was _Ring_ – a movie with a runtime of an hour and a half. On the shorter side. In Yugi’s opinion, not short enough. But he smiled and agreed, steeling himself for the rest of the date, and drafting a lengthy apology to his unsuspecting roommate. And speaking of…

“Just so you know,” he said, as the rickety apartment came into view, “I have a roommate.”

Rebecca slouched in her seat. “Oh. That’s fine.”

“He’s not home right now,” Yugi reassured her, “but you’ll probably see his stuff lying around, and you probably shouldn’t mess with it. He’s an artist, and he just kind of leaves his sketches everywhere.” He silently prayed that, of the ones that were lying around, none of them were of him.

 “Got it,” she said, in much better spirits again. “No touching the art projects.”

“Exactly.”

With that hopefully adequate explanation out of the way, Yugi pulled into the parking lot and cut off the engine. They got out the car in tandem, Yugi pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“Be careful on the stairs,” he warned, as he led Rebecca up. “They’re how I got this.” He lifted his cast.

“I know you said you don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, glancing around warily, “but this place could not look more haunted.”

He forced a laugh. “Don’t worry, I checked. It looks better on the inside.”

By some miracle, Hazim didn’t come slithering out to pull the kind of tricks that he usually did. The flight of stairs was completely silent. It was a small comfort, but Yugi would take any size comfort he could get.

He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and announced, “Here we are – make yourself at home.”

Rebecca squeezed past as he held the door open. “Thanks. It really _does_ look better on the inside.”

Yugi didn’t reply – he strained his eyes for any sign of Atem so he could explain what was going on. He didn’t see anything, which was both a good thing and a terrible thing. He closed the door, slowly. He was coiled like a spring.

“Take a seat anywhere,” he told Rebecca, who was perusing his bookshelf of games. “I’ll be right back, I have to go to the bathroom.”

She nodded with a smile, and he rushed to the end of the hall, flicking on the lights as he went.

“Where are you?” he whispered.

A cold hand squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t bother saying anything else until he was in the bathroom with the door shut firmly behind him.

“Okay,” he started, “I know I said it was just dinner, but I forgot we were going to watch a movie too. Sorry about the surprise.”

Atem faded into existence. His hands were folded politely in front of him, but the look on his face said that he’d much rather have them crossed. “It is going well, then?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other.

Yugi stepped across the room and flushed the empty toilet. Atem raised a brow.

“She thinks I’m going to the bathroom,” he explained, waiting for a few seconds, and flipping on the sink.

“I see.”

Another spell of silence. Yugi dragged a hand down his face.

“The movie is short,” he said, “it’ll be over before you know it. I’ll warn you next time—”

“Next time?”

He swallowed hard and tried to act casual. “I’ll make sure I know what we’re doing if I have her over again.”

“Ah. Yes, that would be preferable.”

Yugi turned off the sink.

“Is… that all you wished to speak about?”

Not even close. Did he have time to say everything he wanted to say? Nope. Did he even _want_ to say half of it? Bigger nope.

“Just be on your best behavior tonight, please,” he said. “She’s already said she’s afraid of ghosts, so if you want to watch the movie—”

“Understood.”

Yugi shut his mouth with a _click_. Atem’s voice held a professional coldness he wasn’t used to. And he didn’t _want_ to get used to it.

“Great,” he said. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Atem said nothing as he faded back into invisibility. Yugi almost asked him what was wrong, but realized how stupid of a question that would be. He shook his head and left the room instead.

“I’m back,” he said.

Rebecca stood up from where she was crouched by the bookshelf. “You have a _lot_ of games.”

“I told you – old habits die hard.” He took a seat on the couch. “Movie time?”

“Absolutely.”

She sat down familiarly close on his left, probably to avoid the cast. Yugi pulled up his legs and crossed them in a feeble attempt to regain his personal space.

He fiddled with the remote, navigating through endless menu screens until he found _Ring_. He pressed play, and watched the production studio logos come fading in.

“Oh, hold on,” he said, jumping up and rushing to the other end of the room. “I’ll get the—”

Every light in the house turned off. He hadn’t even touched the switch.

“—Lights.”

Yugi squinted in the darkness, a silent warning. A gust of cold air rushed innocently past him.

“Ooh,” Rebecca breathed. “It’s a bit drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Yugi agreed, terse. “Old building. You get used to it.”

He returned to his seat on the couch, just as the movie proper started. He took a breath and settled into the cushion. This was fine. He liked _Ring_ – it was a classic horror film. He would focus on watching this very good movie, and not worry about anything else.

Rebecca leaned in so their shoulders were pressing together.

He stared intently at the movie.

He didn’t actually start watching it for about seven more minutes, debating with himself if it would be rude to ask her to back off. He might have if it weren’t for the knowledge that Atem was here. Even if he wasn’t watching the movie, he was in the house _somewhere_. And his purpose for being on this date was blaring through his mind now, a repeat announcement over his brain’s P.A. system. _Just go with it_ , it screamed, _for both your sakes_.

So Yugi let her press against his side, even if he didn’t want her to. It was a reminder for himself, and a message for Atem. A _loud_ message.

And twenty minutes later, it also seemed to be an _effective_ message. The room dropped in temperature a couple times, and Yugi had to once again blame a non-existent draft, but other than that, it was as if the house wasn’t haunted at all. It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the torment on screen and the occasional gasp from the audience of two.

For a good chunk of time, Yugi almost _forgot_ about Atem. He was just a regular, mid-twenties guy on an awkward first date with someone he didn’t have any intention of calling back. No curses, no hauntings, no blood sacrifices, no mysterious evil journals belonging to murderers. He could breathe. He could _live_.

Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder, and he didn’t even feel the need to brush her off. He rested his head on hers.

Not a microsecond had passed before a _SLAM!_ reverberated around the entire room. Rebecca yelped, Yugi gasped sharply. He stood up and whirled around.

In the darkness, he could barely make out the shape of the bathroom door, open, swinging gently on its hinges. He frowned into the empty air, huffing angrily through his nose.

“What?” Rebecca asked. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he promised, sitting back down. “Awkward architecture and weak hinges on the doors.”

She nodded, but shot a wary look to the open door anyway. Yugi glanced back as well, but his look was more of an accusatory glare.

The movie played merrily on, despite the interruption, and the two of them settled back down to watch. Thankfully, they hadn’t missed much. But when Rebecca rested her head back down on his shoulder, Yugi made the decision _not_ to reciprocate.

It was harder for Yugi to go back into that previous state of imagining a different life. His gaze slid off the screen at regular intervals to search the empty space for a suspicious floating object or a semi-transparent outline. When he did his scans, they were always with eyes narrowed in warning.

But Atem played innocent. Yugi didn’t catch any other signs of troublemaking. Didn’t catch any sign of him at _all_ , other than a cold patch of air sitting behind them. He rubbed the back of his neck, warming it up from the consistent chill. Beside him, Rebecca shivered.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, curling closer into his side. “Your hands are just really cold.”

“My…?”

Yugi looked down at his lap, where both his hands were sitting. Nowhere near Rebecca, much less touching her. And they weren’t even cold.

“I’m not touching you,” he said, holding up his hands out to show her.

The gears turned in his head and clicked. He almost clenched them into fists.

“What do you mean?” she asked, almost laughing, Then, she looked at Yugi’s hands. Her eyes grew wide in horror.

Rebecca shot up in her seat, brushing off her arms like they were covered in insects. Yugi snatched the remote and paused the movie.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, and he could almost _hear_ Atem laughing.

“I—I’m okay, I just, uh.” She stood up, arms crossed tight over her chest. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sure.” He stood up and pointed across the room. “There’s one right there, and there’s one down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Rebecca waddled off, shooting the air around her worried glances as she went. Yugi clenched his jaw, but held his tongue until the hall bathroom light clicked on, and the door swung shut. Immediately, he rounded on the empty space behind the couch.

“Do you _mind_?” he hissed.

The space became not-so-empty as Atem faded into existence, arms folded on the back of the couch with his chin on his wrist. “Mind _what_ , exactly?”

“I asked you to behave.”

“I am simply watching the movie.”

“Oh, yeah? Why did you need to slam the door, then?”

Atem shrugged. “I tripped.”

Yugi was shocked. Dumbfounded. He lost all function of language. All he could do was stare, slack jawed, unsure how offended he should be by that clear non-explanation.  

“Are you attempting to catch flies?” the ghost asked.

Yugi snapped his mouth shut into a frown. “Just be quiet. And don’t touch her.”

“You have my word.”

The bathroom door clicked open, and Atem popped out of reality at the same moment. The hallway was washed with yellow light for a brief moment, and Rebecca revealed herself again. The light flicked off.

“Feeling better?” Yugi asked, when she sat back down next to him.

“Much,” she said.

Yugi reached for the remote again, but his finger hovered over the pause button. “Are you still okay with the movie?” he asked. “If it’s freaking you out too much, we can watch something else.”

She shook her head. “You’re sweet, but I’m okay. It was… probably just the draft.”

He nodded, and resumed the movie. He noted with relief that the cold patch behind the couch had wandered off. _He better not try anything else_ , he grumbled to himself. And then stopped in his mental tracks, surprised.

Yugi was not an angry person by nature, not really. He was competitive, sure. He liked to win even the stupidest of arguments – things as simple as “nuh uh” and “yuh huh” still counted as competitions, on a very base level. He got riled up. But he _never_ got angry unless someone really deserved it.

Atem was making him angry. Genuinely, honestly angry.

Yes, Atem was being annoying. Yes, he wished Atem would _stop_ being annoying. Being irritated wasn’t enough to make him _mad_ , but irritation is anger set to simmer. Too much heat, and it’ll boil over quick. Yugi could feel the dial being turned up in little increments every time something “went wrong.”

He didn’t think the reason _why_ he was getting mad was so unreasonable. He was having this date for the both of them. He wasn’t doing this because he _wanted_ to – because he _really_ didn’t want to. He was doing it because it was _right_. And because he was afraid.

So if Atem could stop trying to ruin his whole plan, that would be great.

He tried to broadcast this determined energy into the room around him, in the hopes that the ghost would pick up on it and stop messing around. He didn’t have _high_ hopes that it would work, but it was worth a shot.

Despite what she’d claimed about being a wimp, Rebecca was remarkably calm as _Ring_ continued. Yugi was used to watching horror movies with his friends, with expletive-shouting Jou on the “terrified” end of the reaction spectrum and Ryou making blithe comments on the “completely unphased” end. Rebecca ended up near the middle, reacting in fear and disgust when appropriate, but doing no more freaking out than any regular person would.

“I thought you said you were a wimpy horror movie watcher,” he said.

“It’s easier when there’s someone with me,” she replied, and slipped her arm through his.

“Are you sure you weren’t just making it up?”

“I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

Yugi smiled a little. “Okay, then.”

He glanced around the “empty” room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finding nothing, he flipped arm over and used the new leverage to knit his fingers with Rebecca’s. She didn’t say anything, but gave a tiny squeeze in return. Yugi squeezed back, if only because his whole body tensed in preparation for another door slamming or an angry “draft.”

Nothing of the sort happened. He relaxed back into his seat, refocusing on the movie…

And then noticed it wasn’t playing.

“Did you pause it?” he asked Rebecca.

“No. I thought you did.”

 “But the remote is…” Yugi pointed to where the remote rested on the table with his casted hand.

Or, more accurately, at the place where the remote _used_ to rest. Because the coffee table was free of the long, rectangular shape that would allow the movie to resume.

He pursed his lips and muttered, “Gone.”

The dial ticked.

Yugi took a breath, trying to calm himself back down. There was no _guarantee_ it was Atem messing with him again. Maybe he’d just sat on it or something. He stood up to check, letting his arm fall away from Rebecca, and checked the cushions for the missing tool.

He didn’t find anything, but Rebecca tapped his elbow.

“Uh,” she said, “it’s back on.”

He looked behind him. The movie was, indeed, playing again, “Did you find the remote?”

“No, it just… started playing.”

Fantastic.

“Well, if it’s playing,” he reasoned, “we can find the remote later.” He sat back down.

He’d barely touched the couch before the movie stopped again.

“Guess not,” Rebecca said, smiling sheepishly.

Yugi ground his teeth together. “I guess not.”

They both stood up to look that time, and the movie remained paused. They picked up the throw pillows, lifted the cushions, looked under and behind the couch, and under the coffee table. Nothing.

“It can have just gotten up and walked away,” Rebecca muttered.

 _Maybe not_ , Yugi thought, _but it might have floated._

Something whizzed by in his peripheral vision. He traced it with his eyes to the dinner table across the room. The remote was sitting innocently on the corner, as if it had been there the whole time.

“Found it,” he announced, and trudged over.

“How did it get over there?” Rebecca asked.

“No idea.”

As the words left his mouth, he clutched the remote and tried to pick it up. It resisted, a cold hand tugging from the opposite side. He shot daggers at the empty space and the resistance slunk away, like a cat whose prey had gone too far for it to bother chasing.

 “Alright,” Yugi said, turning around and waving the remote triumphantly. “I’ll keep a better eye on it this time.” He fully intended to sit on it. Let Atem try to take it with _that_ caveat.

He flopped back down on the couch and pressed the play button.

The TV promptly turned itself off.

 _God. Fucking. Dammit_.

“Sorry,” he said, pushing past gritted teeth to something he hoped resembled sincerity, “I’m not sure why all of this is happening.”

“It’s alright,” Rebecca said, gently patting his arm. “Maybe we should do something else, since the movie doesn’t seem to like us.”

Yugi snorted. If only she knew how right she was. “Sure. How about a game?”

She smiled. “That sounds great.”

He stood up and tossed the remote onto the couch, marching confidently over to his bookshelf. It was still dark, but he didn’t need a light to know where everything was. “Do you want to find out who’s better at poker?”

She clapped softly from the couch. “Yes, absolutely!”

“You know,” Yugi said, feeling around for his playing cards, “my roommate and I have a special way of playing games we’re both good at. To make it more interesting,”

A cold, warning pinch on the arm told him to stand down. He ignored it.

“Special how?”

He snatched a deck of cards and answered her louder than he needed to. “If you win a round, you get to ask—”

A scream and the sound of stringed instruments being sawed in half by their players announced that _Ring_ had miraculously turned itself back on. Yugi tossed the cards back on the shelf, smug. _Called your bluff._

“Never mind,” he said, nearly skipping back to his spot.

Rebecca didn’t look nearly as excited, chin tucked into her chest and hands folded in her lap. “Yeah…”

She didn’t link their arms together when he sat back down. In fact, she didn’t touch him at _all_ , keeping a polite distance and hardly even glancing his direction. He offered his arm to her. She didn’t take it.

“Something wrong?” he asked, after several minutes of awkward silence.

“No,” she said, then sighed. “A little.”

Yugi paused the movie. “What’s up?”

Rebecca worked her jaw. “Do you feel like,” she ventured, “something weird is happening here?”

He tried to squash the blanket of panic that settled over him. “Weird how?”

“The movie pausing and unpausing? The remote going missing? Invisible hands?” She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but it really _feels_ haunted in here.”

Yugi forced a laugh and started to stand again. “Maybe we _should_ just play poker. Here—”

“I’m _serious_ , Yugi. I know you said you don’t believe in ghosts, but you can’t _honestly_ tell me you have an explanation for all this”

“Of course, I do,” he lied. “It’s an old building with a draft and faulty wiring. Gridwork, maybe?”

She crossed her arms. “And the remote?”

“I… must have put it there and forgot about it.”

It was awful, and both of them knew it. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

“Look, some weird things have been happening,” he admitted, “but my house _isn’t_ haunted. It’s all just a weird coincidence. Plus—” he gestured to the TV, “—we’ve been watching a scary movie. Things are getting blown out of proportion.”

Rebecca didn’t look nearly convinced, but her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I guess. Maybe it’s the movie.”

Yugi nodded. “Right. We should just play cards.”

“Can I get something to drink first?”

“Sure.” He got to his feet and pointed her toward the kitchen. “Take anything you want. Cups are in the cabinet right of the stove.”

“Thanks.”

They split in opposite directions, Yugi to turn on the light and Rebecca to get her drink. He swept the room with burning eyes the whole way, waiting for Atem to appear so they could have another whisper-yelling match.

“Will you _stop_ ,” he hissed, “with _everything_ you’re doing?” He flicked on the lights, and the living room was illuminated. Still no sign of the ghost. “Where the hell are you?”

A blood-curdling scream from the kitchen answered him.

Yugi sprinted across the room, a smorgasbord of worst-case-scenarios doing cartwheels in his brain, and none of them with any reasonable lie to cover them up.

“What?” he asked, the second he crossed the threshold. “What happened?”

Rebecca was pressed against the far wall, one hand pressed over her mouth and the other shaking at her side. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, her face was bedsheet white, and her chest was heaving.

“What happened?” he repeated, closing the distance between them.

“Th-there was—” she stammered, “—there w-was something—” She raised a shaky hand to point across the room at the sink.

Yugi looked back and saw nothing. He gave it a vicious look anyway.

The dial ticked.

 “I-I’m sorry, Yugi,” Rebecca said, pushing herself off the wall. “I think I’m g-going to go home now.”

The blanket of panic re-settled. “What?”

“I’m just—I’m not feeling right and I want to go home.”

“That’s fine, I’ll take—”

“No.” She took a step away from him. Then two more, toward the exit. “I’ll catch the train. I don’t live too far.”

“It’s really not a problem, I can—”

She shook her head emphatically, continuing to walk backwards. “I’d really rather just go home. By myself.”

“Okay.”

She turned on a dime and rushed to the door, stopping only to pull on her shoes and yank the handle open. He was surprised the door didn’t fly off its hinges.

Yugi watched from the kitchen as the door slammed shut, defeated, dejected, and absolutely, _unbelievably_ pissed.

“Oh dear,” said a voice that didn’t sound remorseful in the slightest. “What a shame.”

The pot was boiling over.

Yugi whirled around, blood roiling in his ears, and saw Atem floating in the air, lounging on nothing. He had his sketchbook propped up on one of his legs, innocently drawing away. He was _smiling_.

Yugi was not smiling.

“What,” he demanded, “is your _problem_?”

Atem didn’t even look at him. “I have not the slightest idea of what you mean.”

Yugi pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself under control. “I’m _not_ in the mood for this.”

“Then perhaps you should speak plainly.”

He raised his left arm and slapped the sketchbook out of the air. It slammed down on the floor, passing through ghostly legs as it went. Now neither of them were smiling.

“I was using that,” Atem muttered, staring down at it.

“I don’t give a _shit_ ,” Yugi spat, “if you were using it. I want you to _answer_ _me_ .”

Atem looked up, but not at him. Through him. “I have no ‘problem.’”

“No problem? Really? Then why did you chase Rebecca out?”

“I did not—”

“Don’t try to pull that with me. You went _out of your way_ to make sure she was terrified. Why?”

“You did not like her. Neither did I. I believe I did us both a favor.”

He ran his hands down his face. “How could you _possibly_ know that I didn’t like her?”

“You told me so yourself.”

“I’d only met her twice! How did you know I hadn’t changed my mind?”

“I cannot imagine you would change your opinion so easily.”

“We were on a _date_.”

Atem had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Thank you, I had not noticed.”

“So _what_ , exactly, gave you the impression that it was okay to terrify her into leaving?”

He still wasn’t making eye contact. “I wanted to.”

Yugi’s brain stalled in pure, unadulterated rage.

Earlier in the night, he might have been grateful for an excuse to say goodbye to Rebecca. But now? After everything was going so well? After he could envision himself _without_ attachments to a dead person? When he thought his half-assed plan might actually _work_? He was furious.

He breathed out through his nose, slowly, and felt every inch of his body catch fire. He clenched his jaw so hard he almost bit off his own tongue.

“You ‘wanted to,’” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his burning eyes. “Well, my apologies _Your Majesty_. I wasn’t aware I had to ask _permission_ to bring people into my own home.”

Atem had stopped lounging, now standing upright and floating just high enough that Yugi had to look up at him. “ _Our_ home—”

Yugi cut him off with a single finger. “Don’t call it that. Do _not_ call it that.”

He wasn’t about to let those words derail him now. He wasn’t about to let _anything_ distract him from his mission. He needed to rip all the band-aids off at once.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” he continued, talking as much to himself as to Atem, “but you’re _dead_. You’re a ghost. You don’t _belong_ in the living world. This is _my_ home. I pay rent, I maintain it, I _live here_ —”

“I live here just as much as you do!”

Yugi laughed, cold and humorless. “No, you _don’t_ live here. You _exist_ here.”

Technically, it wasn’t wrong. But he didn’t believe a word of it.

It did its job, though. If Atem had blood, his face would have been flaming. “How _dare_ you—”

“How dare _I_? How dare _you_ for trying to decide who I can and can’t bring over!”

He threw one transparent hand toward the door. “She was—”

“Why do you care?”

Atem jerked back. “What?”

It was a desperate change of subject, and a road dangerously close to a conversation he didn’t want to have. But he could hardly hear the sound of his common sense over the roaring tidal waves, so he doubled down anyway, “Why do you care about who I date?”

“She— I care about you—"

Yugi crossed his arms. “No.”

He blinked. “Excuse me, but—”

“You’re going to say you chased her out for my own good right? That’s bullshit.”

“You—”

“If this was _really_ about me, you would have waited until she was gone to tell me your opinion _quietly_. You did this for yourself.”

Not that Yugi could point fingers in that direction, considering his reason for the date in the first place. But he was angry enough that it didn’t matter right now.

Atem have any clever responses to that one. He set his jaw firmly.

“So?” Yugi pressed. “Why? What is _so_ important to you that you have to dictate my relationship status, huh?”

He still didn’t answer, lips sealed as if they were glued shut.

“Are you just going to sit there?”

He didn’t move. Apparently, yes.

Yugi sighed into his hands. “Fine.” He dug around in his pocket until he found his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

“What are you doing?” Atem asked, short and clipped.

“Calling Rebecca.”

Atem’s whole body flinched, and his anger disappeared, replaced with panic. “What? Why?”

Yugi picked her out of the list. “I’m going to apologize and ask for a second chance. Because if you _don’t_ care about my love life—” he pressed the button to dial, staring Atem directly in the eye “—then this shouldn’t mean _anything_ to you.”

Atem froze to the spot, his face halfway between fury and terror. He looked like he was being torn apart, fighting with himself so violently it might actually split him in half. Yugi just held the phone to his ear and waited.

It rang once.

Twice.

Thr—

“Alright!” Atem spat, as if it physically pained him. “Alright.”

Yugi hung up and put his phone in his pocket. “Okay.”

The ghost closed his eyes and the tension in his face and body came to a careful halt. He looked like he was preparing for something. “You are correct,” he admitted. “I was acting very selfishly tonight.”

Yugi folded his arms. “Yep.”

Atem’s brow twitched, but otherwise, he was completely still. “I apologize for any untoward feelings it may have caused you.”

“Okay. Are you going to tell me why you did it?”

He smiled with clenched teeth, eyes still pinched shut. “Does the reason matter? I _am_ sorry—”

“It matters if you’re going to do this every time I bring someone over.”

Atem clenched his hands into fists. “I have already told you, I care for you very—”

“And _I’ve_ already told you that’s _not_ _an excuse_.”

Atem’s eyes flashed open, and from a single fearsome look it was clear he’d snapped. “What would you _like_ me to say, Yugi? Was I petulant? Yes. Was I foolish? Yes. Was I envious? Ha!” He threw his arms into the air. “Unbelievably so! Do I care for you? Yes!” He swept forward until they were nearly nose to nose and hissed. “Am I in love with you? _Yes_.”

He wasn’t angry. There was no fire. Only a smoking pile of wood that a fire once lit, smoke spiraling up into the sky. Spent coal and ashes were all that was left of his rage. No, Atem wasn’t angry. He was spent. Hurt. Vulnerable.

And Yugi didn’t say a single word. He just stared, chest concave, his whole world slightly off kilter.

“And to think,” Atem continued, quiet. “To think that I… That I thought…”

Guilt and shame overpowered everything else Yugi could have ever felt. He felt miniscule. Like he could be crushed at any moment, and he might even deserve it.

Atem pulled back, chuckling humorlessly. “Well. It appears I was wrong.”

And with that, his body began to fade away. What light remained of his form was slowly being swallowed up by empty air.

Too late, Yugi found his tongue. “Hold on, we can—we can talk about this.”

He reached out for the ghost, but his fingers found no purchase.

And for the first time in a long time, the apartment was completely silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u h o h


	11. Séance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine’s day! you guys wanted more angst, right? 
> 
> no? oh…

Atem didn’t come back.

Yugi would have known. He stared at the sketchbook on the kitchen floor until he couldn’t stand up without leaning on the wall. He staggered to bed, drained in every possible sense, but couldn’t close his eyes. He gazed into the darkness for hours, one and _only_ one thought consuming him:

_I fucked up._

It was the understatement of the year, but it was the only thing worth calling this. The gigantic mess he’d made of himself and of Atem. The catastrophe he’d created. One massive fuck-up.

He slipped in an out of a fitful sleep, and not once did he see the crown glow from its place on the shelf, he never felt the air around him grow colder than normal. He didn’t hear any songs.

_I fucked up_ , he thought for what felt like the millionth time, staring at the ceiling until light crept in from the sunrise. _Big time._

And he had no idea what to do about it.

Head fuzzy and sluggish from lack of sleep, Yugi dragged himself out of bed. He stopped to stare up at the end of the shelf. The framed daguerreotype and the eye of the crown stared back. He reached for the golden jewelry, pressing his fingers against the metal. Ice cold.

He opened his mouth. To say something. To say _anything_. To try to make the first stitch in patching up this gaping hole.

“I…” he managed.

The eye on the crown shimmered, and his heart stopped.

It creaked like a rusty hinge. The metal eyelid slowly scraped down until it covered the rest of the carving. Closed.

With trembling fingers, Yugi took his hand back. He left the room in a daze, wandering wherever his feet deigned to take him. He found himself at the front door, opening it, stepping out, and closing it. He sat down on the first step. It groaned under his weight.

He buried his face in his arms. The plastic of his cast scraped against his cheek, decorated still with leaves, vines, flowers, and a bird. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at it. Or anything.

What was he going to _do?_

He tried to will himself to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. What would the point of it be? Feeling sorry for himself? If anything, he had this coming. He tried to take the “easy” way out – if it could even be called that – and he was paying the price. He picked the path that was worse for _everyone_ – for himself, for Atem, and for whoever he decided to saddle with all this secretive baggage.

The worst part was, it had worked.

Yugi had found an easy way to cut his feelings out of the picture. He wouldn’t have to worry about Atem now, because Atem clearly didn’t want to be around him. He could go out, find someone _alive_ to pine over instead, and put this whole ghostly business behind him. He could let Atem and Hazim duke it out on their own terms and not involve him with _any_ of it. He had what he wanted.

But now that he had it, he was struck with the realization that it _wasn’t_ what he wanted. Or, at least, he’d never wanted it like _this_.

Ah. _Now_ the tears were happening.

“Shit,” he cursed, swiping angrily at his eyes. “ _Shit_.”

Through the blur of tears and exhaustion, a fuzzy gray cloud appeared from under the stairs, pushing effortlessly through the gaps between the railings. But it wasn’t as formless as its previous appearance, instead taking the shape of a cloudy, ever-shifting silhouette of a man.

“My, my,” Hazim said, settling his form one step down from Yugi. “He really did win you over, didn’t he?”

Yugi didn’t have the energy to argue. He put his head back down and promptly ignored the patch of haze trying to get his attention.

Sadly, Hazim wasn’t deterred. “Come now, Yugi, I truly believed you were smarter than that.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Ah, but that is where you would be wrong. I have seen—” a cold hand tapped the crown of his head, “—quite a lot more than most people can ever _dream_ of learning about you.”

Yugi slapped the smoky hand away. He passed right through it. “Don’t.”

“Of course,” Hazim continued, as if Yugi hadn’t said anything at all, “that doesn’t mean that I know _everything_ about you. Why, I had no idea how soft you were for melodramatics.”

Yugi bit his tongue. Hazim continued.

“He did put on a convincing show, I’ll give him that. If I had been an outsider, I never would have _considered_ that he would… Well, I’m sure he’ll have told you by now.”

He was gloating. He was dangling it in the air and _gloating_.

Yugi snapped his head up and snarled, “I don’t care what you’re trying to get me to do. Leave me alone.”

Hazim’s silhouette form rippled with laughter. “I am not trying to get you to _do_ anything.”

“You’re lying.”

The featureless head shook. “I lay my cards before you, Yugi. I have never once played close to my chest. You know what I want.”

He knew. “I won’t help you kill Atem. Why are you even talking to me?”

Two gray hands lifted to the sides, like a scale. “You help me. I help you. A simple act of cooperation.”

“You don’t have anything to help me with.”

“What if I could save your life?”

Yugi laughed out loud. “Yeah, right.”

“Al Sadat.” Hazim crossed his arms. “You are fond of him, are you not?”

There weren’t any eyes to make contact with, but Yugi’s gaze fell away regardless. “I was.”

Hazim wagged a finger. “Are.”

“So what?” Yugi snapped. “Why do you care?” _It’s not like I didn’t mess it up already._

“Do you think he is _unaware_ of this? That he is ignorant to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

Yugi wasn’t going to be lectured by _Hazim_ of all people. Especially not about this. He got to his feet.

Hazim snatched him by the cast, a ghostly arm curling around the bulky elbow like a snake. “Do you not think it _strange_ ,” he continued, “that he became so docile after your first meeting?”

Yugi tried to yank his arm back in vain. “I was nice to him. You should try it sometime.”

“All I have done is show you the _truth_. He is not what you think—”

“So you’ve told me.” Yugi gestured to himself with his free arm. “And yet, I’m still here. Let me go.”

He didn’t let go. “Not all of you.”

“I did that _willingly_ —”

“All sacrifices,” Hazim said, then rose up from the stairs, tugging Yugi away from the door and towering above him, “are made willingly. But a will is a fragile thing, that can be clouded by…what should we call them?” he lifted Yugi’s cast to eye level, forcing him to look at it. “Material desires.”

Yugi yanked his arm back, and this time it came back to him. “What is your _point_? What are you trying to convince me of?”

The gray cloud of Hazim’s body grew stormy, growing and swirling like a hurricane. “I am not—!” He quickly cut himself off, and his body settled back down to a muted gray. “I am not trying to _convince_ you of anything. I am laying the facts before you, and letting you decide.”

“What facts could you _possibly_ have that I don’t?”

“I know he has been planning to kill you.”

Yugi’s mouth curled into an incredulous smile. “Yeah. Okay. Nice try.”

“Think, Yugi.” Hazim swirled around him like a personal tornado. “He was so eager to snap your neck when you first met. Why would that change so drastically? So suddenly?”

“Because—”

“He has been playing you for a fool. He knows _how_ to play you. Everything is a game to him, every move he makes is calculated.”

Yugi shook his head. “You’re insane. You don’t know anything about him.”

The tornado stopped. Hazim towered above him again. “Then tell me, Yugi. What does Al Sadat want?”

“He wants to pass on.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How will he achieve this goal?”

Yugi didn’t have an answer to that one.

“He must have told you about the way to undo a curse, yes?”

“He mentioned it.” Once. Yugi remembered the icy look he was given in his hospital bed, marking it as something he wasn’t supposed to ask about.

“ _And_?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because a curse can be broken in one of two ways. The first is by the elimination of the caster, _or_ —” Hazim lifted Yugi’s left hand, where a puffy, awkward scar stuck out from his palm, “—through a complete sacrifice of the soul.”

Well. That certainly explained why Atem didn’t want to talk about it.

The scar ached with the memory of that morning, and something deeper than he could explain throbbed and squirmed as Hazim’s ghostly form touched his palm. He jerked his hand back.

Something about the feeling must have shown on his face, because Hazim chuckled. “The soul remembers where it is cut.”

“What’s your point?” Yugi pressed. “How are you saving my life by telling me this?”

“All that we want,” Hazim said, “is to die. We are united in this desire. Yet, Al Sadat is the reason we are both trapped here. I cannot kill him, for his curse weakens me even now. He cannot kill me, for his own law states that I exist unless I pass on alongside him. So—” he tapped Yugi’s forehead, “—when you came along, he saw an easy target. He saw a kindly soul, so willing to negotiate. He saw a man willing to give his life for another. If all the pieces are set in place, of course. He has simply been playing the game.”

Yugi rolled his eyes. “What? You’re saying he’s been pretending to be my friend this whole time?”

“And succeeding. You’ve already proven yourself willing to sacrifice for him.”

Yugi shook his head and started back up the stairs. He wasn’t going to acknowledge that ridiculous idea with a response.

“This curse will end in one of two ways,” Hazim said, following him up. The smoky hand pulled him back around by the shoulder, lifting his left hand to his face again. “With his life, or with yours. Tell me, which outcome is the most likely to pass?”

Yugi stared at his hand. At his scar. At the place where his soul was ripped out of his body. His insides squirmed again.

“If I were you,” Hazim continued, “I would not be placing my favor with the one who already has a piece of my soul.”

Then, the cloudy shape let go. Hazim melted back down to the first floor, and left Yugi alone. Very, very alone.

Stiffly, he turned around, and retreated back into his silent apartment. He flopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. And as much as he would have liked to claim otherwise, Hazim’s words plagued him for a long while afterwards.

He didn’t believe that Atem had been faking their friendship. He _couldn’t_ let himself believe that, not now. Not after everything they’d been through. What worried him were the circumstances of that friendship.

Whether or not Atem had been planning to sacrifice him for power from the beginning, it looked like it was going to end up that way eventually. It was impossible for Atem to kill Hazim -- or send him into the state _beyond_ death, whatever it was called – and Hazim had been trying to kill Atem for this long without success. It was going to be Hazim wearing Atem down, or Atem suddenly having the strength to take care of the curse for good. And it looked like the only way to do that was a sacrifice.

Yugi… didn’t want to die. In general. Dying was at the bottom of the list, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want to be sacrificed either, while on the subject. All of it was _bad_.

But he wasn’t positive he hadn’t already made his decision.

His soul hadn’t _just_ reacted to Hazim touching the place where it “remembered” being cut. It was preparing. It was ready and willing to make the exchange as soon as he gave the word. He’d opened the gates once before, and it was easier for him to give pieces of himself away. Worse than that – it had _wanted to_.

He didn’t want to give his soul to Hazim, obviously. But he already knew he didn’t _like_ Hazim. If it came down to life or death, and Atem needed his help like in that way again, would he be able to say he wouldn’t? Would he really be able to say “no, I won’t help” and mean it? Even if Atem didn’t want him to, he could easily do it himself. And then… poof. No more soul.

Yugi didn’t want to die. But he also wasn’t sure how hard he’d be pushed to make a decision between himself and Atem. If his life was on the line, there was very little Atem could do. Yugi’s path to help Atem, on the other hand, was pretty straightforward.

There was a third way it could all end, though it was the most unlikely. It was Atem and Hazim, moving on and accepting their deaths. It was almost _funny_ to think about.

Atem clearly hadn’t gotten over being assassinated, and Hazim didn’t seem to be the least bit remorseful about it. And, while Atem regretted killing Hazim, Yugi seriously doubted that Hazim would be ready and willing to accept an apology. They both thought they were completely in the right. And then there was Yugi, stuck in the middle of it all, trying to find some way to make it turn out alright for everyone.

Maybe Hazim hadn’t gotten Yugi the way he _wanted_ to, but his words had burrowed deep inside Yugi’s mind, and it didn’t look like they were going to be moving any time soon.

In a way, he’d had been right all along. Atem had played him into a perfect position to die. And _that_ idea bothered Yugi to no end.

_I fucked up_ , he thought. And he wasn’t even sure what he was referring to.

 

 

The Between was quiet. The Between was always quiet. Nothing existed in the place that hardly existed itself.

Well, that was hardly fair. Atem technically existed, though he’d much rather he didn’t at the moment.

He was lying down. Or maybe he was floating. He couldn’t be bothered to make the distinction, or to care about much of anything at all. Ghosts lacked sensation of body, and despite this, Atem felt numb. Deader than he’d felt in quite a while. Like a fish belly-up in a bowl, he remained unmoving, unthinking, as unliving as he could manage without dying a second time.

All of this had been a horrible mistake.

Killing Hazim had already been a mistake, but he never could have imagined all that would follow. The endless tearing at each other’s throats, the battles, the madness. And the relief. That was the worst part – finding peace. Finding some kind of sick, twisted reason for it all. How _tragically_ poetic, too. A ghost, unable to let go of the past. A dead man, in love with a living one. And then having that peace rocked. Having it ripped out from under him in one smooth motion, and stung with the hot poker of rejection.

The universe was playing a lot of very cruel games with him.

A tug on his soul and a shift in the Between alerted him to a presence. _The_ presence.

“Back for more?” he said, not even bothering to get up.

“Not at all,” Hazim answered, somewhere below. He was floating, then. “I come with a message.”

“A likely story.” He prepared his energy, waiting for the first blow to strike. Hazim was always a fan of surprise attacks.

“I’ve spoken with Yugi.”

He jolted to his feet, concentration slipping. “You what?”

“But of course,” Hazim said, suddenly appearing at his side. “You left him in quite a state, after all.”

Atem took mental note of his situation. Hazim had gotten this close without striking first. His goal was psychological distress, not physical.

But Atem had no such agenda.

It took less than a second for him regather his forced, reel back, and punch a hole through Hazim’s cloudy chest. The cursed spirit didn’t make a sound as his form was torn asunder, but Atem felt the soul cry out as his fist collided with it.

Ghosts did not feel physical pain – they had no bodies to feel it, much less a nervous system to tell them they were being hurt at all. Instead, it was a blow to the core of their beings, tearing in the very fabric that caused them to exist. With it came not bruises, but endless scars.

“I will leave _you_ in a state,” Atem spat, arm still halfway inside his opponent, “if you do not leave _him_ alone.”

“I imagine,” Hazim said, and Atem was pleased to note his voice was strained, “you would do so regardless.”

“A fortuitous guess.”

Atem retracted his arm and retreated several steps, anticipating the counterattack. It didn’t come.

“Well?” he taunted.

“I’m surprised at you, Al Sadat,” Hazim said. “You are not usually one for brute force.”

“I suppose after two-hundred years, you have finally begun to rub off on me.”

“It must be so.”

Smoky clouds swirled in the cavity of Hazim’s form, partially obscuring the damage. He folded his hands behind him and walked casually in a half-circle. Atem mirrored his movement, still prepared for an attack. He steeled his spirit in the place it was weakest – his throat. Where the phantom ache of his assassination still stung, if he thought about it long enough.

“You said you had a message,” Atem said, breaking the tense silence. “Out with it.”

Hazim pressed a hand to the edge of his wound. “After such an intense greeting, I’m not sure you’d like to hear it after all.”

“I cannot imagine I would _like_ to hear anything you have to say.”

He threw back his featureless head and laughed. “Remember your manners, _boy_.”

Atem was tired of waiting.

The Between was a place with fragile laws and powered by the will of those who wandered in it. If it could be imagined, it could be created.

So if, for example, Atem were to imagine himself standing right behind Hazim, it could easily be done.

 In a single moment, he disappeared and reappeared behind his target. He threw out his leg, his foot colliding with place Hazim might have had a spine. The cloud gave way, bending under the force of his will. Hazim pitched foreword with a grunt, stumbling as he righted himself. Atem retracted his leg and set it back down in an even stance.

“Do not,” he warned, “call me _boy_.”

Hazim spun around, already throwing a punch. Atem tossed the first away with its own momentum, ducking low and jabbing under Hazim’s ribcage. An elbow collided with the back of his head, sending him to his knees. He tucked into himself and rolled to standing.

“Testy, aren’t we?” Hazim said.

“In so many words.”

Atem hooked a left, meeting Hazim’s featureless head. The silhouette took the hit, wisps peeling off in droves, following the momentum. He landed a punch on Atem’s side. Atem staggered off his footing, and Haizm took two steps behind him. An elbow and a powerful kick to the center of his back sent Atem down again, gasping as the wound burned itself into his soul. He landed on his stomach, rolling onto his back just as Hazim’s foot slammed down onto the empty space he just occupied.

“Come now,” said the silhouette. “Don’t you want to hear what he told me?”

Atem scrambled backwards, trying to pull himself together. “He did not _tell you_ anything.” He knew Yugi too well to believe that. If he said anything, it was “go away.”

“He did not have to. It was quite plain on his face.”

Hazim’s long strides quickly overtook Atem on the ground. He kicked Atem in the chest, pinning him down. Atem struggled under the weight of Hazim’s will, pounding on his leg like an animal. It was stronger than he expected – _much_ stronger.

“The poor thing,” Hazim sighed, as if they were chatting over tea. “You really broke his heart, you know.”

Atem would _not_ hear those words. Refused to. He only grimaced as the foot sank deeper into his chest. Desperately, he shoved his hand through Hazim’s leg and _yanked,_ his fist coming away with a cloud of smoke. Hazim hissed through non-existent teeth, pulling his mangled leg away.

Chest still aching, Atem got to his feet. Hazim swung out and he ducked, jumping to the side. He chanced a glance down at his most recent injury, and saw a smoking footprint. There was an inch difference between it and the rest of his form.

A few seconds was all he could spare. Hazim closed the distance and swung again. Atem raised his arm to block, but the fist suddenly disappeared – as well as the rest of the body. He whirled around just in time for it to reappear and collide with his cheek. He reeled back, dizzy with pain.

The blow stung with a power Hazim’s attacks hadn’t contained in a while. He was stronger than even earlier that _week_. But how?

He didn’t have time to wonder. Atem swung a counterattack with his right hand. When Hazim raised to block, he feinted left and socked the underside of his jaw. He followed it with a kick in the ribs, right where he’d sunk that knife deep into the man’s living body so long ago. Hazim howled at the contact, clutching his side. It smoked under his hand, tiny clouds dissolving away.

“Personally,” he grimaced, “I’m not sure what he sees in you. You’re far too _angry_.”

Atem growled and blocked it out. Forced himself not to listen. He just went in again, hooking another left. Hazim caught it and threw his arm wide. He shoved his hand deep into Atem’s chest, and made a fist, grasping him by his very soul. Atem sputtered and cursed, vision flashing dark. It was like a he’d swallowed a burning coal that was slowly burning its way through his insides.

“Yes,” Hazim muttered. “Far too angry.”

“A-and you,” Atem heaved, “are _not_?”

Hazim shook him like a ragdoll, and he had to hold back a strangled cry. “I never said _that_ , did I?”

Atem sank his hands into Hazim’s arm in an attempt to yank it out. It held fast. “What,” he gasped, “is your _point_?”

The featureless head tilted. Hazim ripped his hand out of Atem’s chest with a shove. He collapsed on his back, writhing in agony as a hole burned away at him. His eyes were open, but he could hardly see through the haze of pain.

“My point,” Hazim said, “is that you have nothing left to fear.”

He stepped over Atem and fastened a hand around his throat. Atem _did_ cry out that time, the thin slit from his death opening wide and _burning, burning, burning_. He scrabbled at the hand, he kicked up with his feet, but found no purchase.

“You have no more secrets left to keep,” Hazim continued. “I told him all he needed to know. About curses. About _sacrifices_.”

Though he could hardly register the words through his pain, Atem panicked. “Y-ou c—”

“Yes, yes, he knows all about your little _plan_ now, too. There’s nothing left for him to find out.”

No.

No, no, _no_.

Atem fought even harder against his restraints now, but it was unfocused, wild, little more than flailing. He had to get out of here. He had to get _Hazim_ out of here. If he could… concentrate enough to dismiss—

Hazim squeezed tighter around Atem’s throat and tore his fist away.

If it was possible to die without dying, this would be the closest Atem would ever get.

Every inch of him was burning. Every piece of him was reeling, rioting, _hurting_ so deeply. He went blind for several seconds, he couldn’t feel his— _anything_. He lied there, unable to do anything but gargle incoherently in anguish.

“Oh my,” Hazim said, though it was like hearing someone down a very long hallway. “It’ll take a long time to recover from that. Unless you had a sacrifice, of course. But—” the voice was suddenly closer, right in his ear, “—I don’t think you’ll be getting one of those any time soon.”

Atem summoned the last of his energy, the few fragments he possessed and whispered, “I… dismiss you.”

He snapped weakly, but it did the trick. There was a _pop_ and Hazim was gone.

Now all he had was his pain for company.

Virtually paralyzed, Atem’s sluggish mind finally caught up with everything Hazim had told him. Everything he had told _Yugi_. His plan…

He’d abandoned it so quickly he’d hardly even call it a ”plan” at all. A willing sacrifice was hard to come by, so the idea of gently easing someone already predisposed to selflessness into the situation wasn’t a _horrible_ one. But he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lead Yugi to his own death, not after they’d started becoming friends, genuinely. Not after how much he realized their friendship meant to him.

Not after he’d let himself fall in love.

And now Yugi knew. He knew about a plan that Atem never intended to enact. But it’s wasn’t as if he could set the record straight. Not anymore.

He knew it wouldn’t work, but he reached for the crown anyway. He reached for his escape, trying to pull himself back into the world. If nothing else, to retreat from a place Hazim could so easily come back and finish him off. Of course, nothing.

They really were far too much alike.

He tried to assess the damage that Hazim had done. The hole in his chest stung, but his throat was still the worst of it. Without a sacrifice, it would take days to recover naturally. As long as a week. Maybe two.

He wished he had the presence of mind to leave in the midst of their fight, like he’d done before. At least then he would be somewhere relatively safe, even if he couldn’t recover naturally. But his mind was clouded, and he let Hazim get to him. Let him addle his brain and divert his focus.

And now he was trapped here. Unable to do anything but wait.

Atem closed his eyes. And he got busy waiting.

 

 

Death.

Such a lovely topic to consider on a Monday afternoon.

Yugi, for some unfathomable reason, couldn’t shake the idea. It pestered him all through the morning, all the way to work, to his desk, and through to his lunch hour. But he had a lot of death in his life, to be fair.

Dead things lived in and around his house, dead things that had killed each other, dead things that were _still_ trying to kill each other in a fight could easily end up with _him_ being a third dead thing. In addition, one of those dead things was his friend. More or less.

Nearly forty-eight hours after Atem’s dramatic disappearance, Yugi had started to worry if he would ever come back. The eye on the crown was sealed shut as if it had been carved that way from the beginning. The metal itself was still cold with the presence of the spirit, so he wasn’t lingering around the house unseen. He was still in there. He just wouldn’t come out.

Yugi couldn’t have hurt him _that_ badly, right? Atem had to know that everything he said was in the heat of the moment. None of it was genuine. He _had_ to know that. If Hazim had been telling the truth – which, he hated to admit, was likely – it sounded like Atem already knew that he… how he felt. So he _had_ to know that it was all bullshit.

Right?

He chewed on the thought for hours – as well as his favorite pen. He looked down at the mess between his teeth and grimaced. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone stealing it.

Yugi sighed and put the mangled thing down. This was supposed to be his break, but it was anything _but_ relaxing. At least working kept him busy. At least working kept his mind on something that he could actually work on and improve. He couldn’t do _anything_ with Atem unless he came out and talked to him. Or wrote it down. Or drew it on the wall – _something_. Communication was required in some form.

He pulled his keyboard back from where he’d shoved it to the side of his desk, preparing to cut his break short and get back to work. If Atem didn’t want to talk to him right now, there was nothing he could do about it.

If… Atem didn’t want to talk to him _ever_ there was nothing he could do about it.

_Oh_ , he realized. _Shit_.

Suddenly, editing lines of code wasn’t the most important thing he could be worrying about.

It was true of anyone on the planet – no one could _make_ someone talk to them if they really didn’t want to. And it was even harder when one of them was a ghost, in some weird pocket dimension inside a crown. Or something. He still didn’t fully grasp that part.

But Atem could very well stay in his crown for the rest of his natural life – of _Yugi’s_ natural life, rather – and there would be nothing Yugi could do to make him come out. There would be nothing he could say or show or create that would get Atem to talk to him if he really didn’t want to. If Saturday night was something he couldn’t forgive, and he wanted to cut himself off, he could very easily do that. And just… leave.

Yugi leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. No, there was no way the weekend’s argument would be something Atem would just leave unsettled. He was taking some time to cool off, and then they could talk about it. He _would_ come back.

…Right?

Just like that, the worst-case scenario was set before him. There was a possibility Atem might never come back, and Yugi would have to be okay with it. He would never have the chance to apologize, explain himself, or anything else. Boom. Done. Over.

Through sheer force of willpower, Yugi sat back up, mindlessly re-opened his work, and dove back into game design. _I really need to stop thinking about this_ , he thought.

And from that point on he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was as if the universe had responded “tough luck!” and gave him ample opportunity to think about it. There wasn’t much code to correct, and of the ones that needed correcting, they were simple fixes. Hardly requiring the rubber duck sitting on his desk. Easy, second nature brushing up. No wonder his mind had room to wander.

The idea of Atem leaving and never coming back had rarely occurred to him in the entire time they’d been friends. And of the few times it had, it was always in worry that he was being stuck there somehow, not simply _refusing_ to come out. He’d never _dreamed_ of it. But Atem was as autonomous as any living person – more so, in some respects. How many people could retreat to a place that almost no one else could access? He could make his own decisions, and if one of those decisions was to cut Yugi out, it was entirely within his right.

That was not a nice thought. It felt horrible, frankly. Yugi could feel his stomach contract, and the rest of his body sank twice as heavy. A life without Atem was something he _avoided_ considering for the longest time, and now it could very well be the life he’d be living. Just not in the way he imagined it happening.

He corrected a line of redundant code and scolded himself for jumping to conclusions. It had barely been _two days_. That was less time than his _alive_ friends took to cool off about arguments sometimes. Then again, his alive friends were a lot more accessible than Atem currently was. And they told him when they needed time to cool off. And he could be sure they were hearing what he was saying. And he’d never said such awful things to his friends before.

 His stomach twisted itself into balloon animals. He deleted an extraneous variable.

Yugi didn’t want Atem to be gone for good. He just didn’t, and he hoped it _wouldn’t_ come to that. But there was no guarantee. So there was no harm in examining the pros and cons. If it happened.

He made the dual list in his head, and noted that the cons _far_ outnumbered the pros. For starters, he’d be losing a friend. Underlined, bolded, all caps, that was the biggest one. Yugi cherished his friends more than anything else in his life, dead ones included. He’d never get the chance to apologize. He’d never get the chance to ask for understanding, if not forgiveness. He wouldn’t have someone to talk to about things that nobody else ever wanted to hear about. Movie nights wouldn’t be as fun, and game nights would be virtually impossible by himself. He’d miss the drawings littered around the house, and _being_ drawn, too. He’d be missing an entire, monumental presence in his life. That wasn’t nothing.

He didn’t want to find pros in this, but he couldn’t deny that they existed. Not having to worry about being a sacrifice was one. He wouldn’t have to worry about grudges beyond the grave. No more worrying about keeping his “roommate” secret. No more scraping together excuses about why he never left the house. No more lies. No more “random picture of a dead person” in his room.

No more confusing feelings he was still scared to acknowledge.

Was Atem leaving for good worth it? No, not at all, from Yugi’s perspective.

But… he’d be okay. If it did happen. He’d be fine. Eventually.

The more Yugi rolled this idea around in his head, the less he liked it. But he figured it was like the grieving process. Right now, he was in the “denial” stage. He’d just move through all of them until he could accept it for what it was.

_If this even happens at all_ , he remined himself. _Don’t get ahead of yourself_.

It might _not_ happen, but knowing he’d be okay one day made the possibility a little easier to process.

Work carried on. He couldn’t completely shake the idea from his mind, but it was running in the background instead of being his main focus. He was able to function like he normally would, even if it involved a lot more spacing out than he was used to. So much so that he almost missed an email appearing in his inbox an hour and half before the end of the workday.

A message from the senior producer of the entire studio, Yoshida, sat innocently unopened among the other emails he was afraid to delete. The subject line read: “Important.” Yugi clicked it open, heart stuttering in his chest.

The email itself was short. It told Yugi to head to Yoshida’s office before he left the studio that day – and not to worry, because he wasn’t in trouble. Despite the reassurance, Yugi found his nerves acting up anyway.

What could Yoshida need? Yugi reported the game’s progress at the end of every day, and there was hardly anything _to_ report this late in development. All they were doing was waiting for release. It might have something to do with marketing. He hardly interacted with anyone from that department, so they might be using Yoshida as a liaison of sorts. But that was a _really_ roundabout way for them to get what they needed.

And why his _office_? KCStudios wasn’t a small building by any means, but that didn’t stop every employee from the game director downwards from walking from department to department, delivering news face to face. If Yoshida wanted to meet in his office, it must be a _personal_ conversation. Something he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Needless to say, the minutes ticked by like hours from that point on. Yugi was constantly sneaking glances at the clock, trying to decide how close “before you leave” was. Fifteen minutes? Ten? _Five_? He really wished that email had given him more to go on. He considered writing a follow-up, but couldn’t muster the courage to even click the “reply” button.

In the end, he settled on fifteen, just to be safe. He busied himself with getting as much done as possible before then… and gnawing on his already-destroyed pen.

He jumped like he’d sat down on a tack when the time came. He froze over his desk for several tense seconds, trying to decide if he needed to bring something to take notes with, just in case. But he didn’t even know what this impromptu meeting was _about_. He settled for walking empty handed to the elevator, jittering like he’d just had eight cups of coffee. He pressed the six, and waited.

The elevator ride up couldn’t have taken more than twenty seconds. It felt like fifty years. Yugi stepped out of the doors down a hallway lined with sleek office doors, affixed with name plaques below frosted glass windows. It felt endless – like staring down at the deepest part of the ocean.

Yugi picked at the plastic on his cast as he walked down the hall, scanning the names until he saw one that looked familiar – _Yoshida M._

Through the frosted glass he saw not one figure, but two. One of them sitting at a desk, the other standing to the side. He couldn’t tell anything else from their looks alone, but he heard voices speaking in earnest, if muffled, conversation. He closed his eyes, took a sharp breath, and opened the door.

“Hello, Mister Yoshida?” he said, bowing shortly as he entered the room. “You wanted t— _oh._ ”

He immediately folded in half at the waist, as he saw none other than the CEO of KaibaCorp himself standing in the corner of the room, looking up from where Yoshida sat behind his desk.

“Ah,” Seto Kaiba remarked, sleek white coat ruffling as he crossed his arms. “You’re Mutou, then?”

Before Yugi could even open his mouth, Yoshida answered for him. “That’s him, alright. Come on in Mutou.”

Yugi snapped to attention and walked further into the room. “Y-you asked to see me, sir?”

Yoshida inhaled. Kaiba cut him off. “Technically, _both_ of us wanted to see you, but since our business here overlaps, I decided it would be more efficient for you meet with the two of us at the same time.”

“Yes,” Yoshida added, looking a bit put out by the interruption. “We’ve both got some very exciting news for you.”

Yugi glanced between them, too afraid to say anything, too shocked to even put to words what he hoped was happening.

“I don’t say this lightly, Mutou,” Kaiba said, and Yugi believed him. “The pitch you gave to me and the board of directors earlier this month was the most competently put together presentation I saw that entire day.”

_This is happening,_ Yugi thought, already reeling. _This is really, actually happening._

“Th-thank you,” he choked, “so much.”

He started to bow again, but Kaiba made a face and stuck out his hand. “Please, don’t.”

Yugi straightened back up, and Yoshida took the mantle of speaking. “Mister Kaiba and I were both very impressed by your pitch, and we’ve decided to give you the green light for production.”

Even though he knew it was coming, the rush from hearing it said out loud was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was like being slapped in the face a hundred times – but in a good way.

“Really?” he breathed.

“And, obviously,” Kaiba added, “you’ll be taking on the role of director for this project.”

Dead. Yugi was dead. He died before walking into the office and this entire scenario was happening in the afterlife.

“I—I’ll be _what_?” he stammered.

“You won’t be transitioning over just yet,” Kaiba said, with a tone that was normally paired with rolling eyes. “We still have to gather your team, of course, and your current work in the pipeline needs to be finished before you can begin an entirely different project. But yes.”

Yugi could barely hear him. Everything was underwater. He felt like he’d just been punched.

Yoshida came around the desk with a friendly smile. “Congratulations, Mutou. You’ve been a real asset to the studio, and I can’t wait to see where you’ll take this project.”

He held out a hand to shake, and Yugi took it on sheer autopilot. He bowed again, at a complete loss for words, thoughts, _anything_.

He was getting to make his game. He was getting to _direct_ his game.

“it’s settled then,” Kaiba said. “Your team will be assembled by the beginning of next week, and production will start immediately.”

Yugi stood up and faced Kaiba to thank him too, but was brushed away by a dismissive hand.

“I know, I know,” he said. “You can thank me by creating a good game.”

“Yes sir,” Yugi breathed, “Absolutely.”

His exit from the room could not have been more awkward, walking backwards and half bowing before turning around, but he was too elated to care. He was going to make his game— _he was going to lead the production of  his game!_ He was the _creative lead_ behind his game!

It was everything he could have hoped for – _more_ , even. Getting greenlit was one thing, but getting to be the _director_? When he’d worked at the studio for less than a year? That didn’t just _happen_ to people. This was an opportunity that _nobody_ got.

And yet, here he was. Getting it. Having _already_ gotten it.

Yugi nearly _sprinted_ down the hall to the elevator. He had to tell his mom, he had to tell his friends, he had to tell _everybody!_

The studio had mostly cleared out by the time he got back to his desk, and that was the only way he would have noticed the time. He was too excited to be literate – he was too excited to _breathe_ properly. He felt the best he’d felt in nearly a week. Maybe longer.

_Who cares!_ he thought, brushing the idea away. _I get to make my game!_

On the way out the door, he called his mom and left a breathless voicemail for her. He sat down in his car and keysmashed the hell out of the group chat, maybe throwing in some legible words for them to read as well. He blasted his music on the drive home, he sang, he danced, he laughed, he made a complete fool of himself and absolutely none of it mattered. Embarrassment was a word he didn’t know anymore.

He was still riding the high when he pulled into his driveway, spinning his keyring on his finger, and humming the last song he heard off-key and proud. He skipped up the stairs with no regard for any sort of danger and unlocked the door with a dramatic flourish.

He threw open the door and called into the house, “Atem! Atem, you’re never going to _believe_ what—”

And suddenly everything came crashing down.

The front door swung shut weakly. Any song he might have been singing got stuck in his throat, along with the rest of his sentence and a lump he couldn’t swallow.

An empty apartment greeted him.

An empty Yugi greeted it back.

 

 

Concentration. It was all a matter of concentration.

Atem hadn’t opened his eyes since he’d been injured. Not only was he waiting, which he certainly was, but he was focusing his energy into the places it wouldn’t otherwise be reaching. Or, if it was, not in any useful way.

The hole in his chest had grown bigger since the skirmish, but that was only because he’d been prioritizing his neck. The healing process would be significantly more intense for an area so vital to his death – and life, incidentally. He thought of nothing but his recovery. With all the discipline that had been drilled into him as Khedive, he clustered every drop of energy left to him in the area that, for all intents and purposes, did not exist.

The Between could create things from a simple thought, yes. But Atem was not trying to create. He was trying to rebuild. He was repairing his very soul, and it would require as much dedication as any injured body. More, in some cases.

Concentration. The entire process was built on a foundation of seamless, unbroken, concentr—

_Atem!_

His eyes flew open at the distant sound of Yugi’s voice, and he cursed himself.

_Atem, you’re never going to_ believe _what_ —

Yugi’s excited chatter abruptly cut off. There was the faint sound of a door being shut. Nothing followed it.

Atem could choose to muffle or deafen his interaction with the physical world entirely – and until his recent attack, had been doing so. But now that his focus was fixated on recovery, he had nothing left to perform his other tricks. Even if he wished to do so, quite badly.

It was not a decision he made lightly. Trapping himself in the bubble of the Between was isolating in a way he hadn’t been privy to since he’d lost himself to madness. Any reminder of that time was unwelcome, but the ugly feelings that had taken root since his retreat were even _more_ unwelcome. It was a compromise. Silence outside for silence inside. For the most part.

Even though the living world was now an open channel, he didn’t hear anything else. Atem closed his eyes, in theory returning to his meditation, but in practice he was straining for another sound. _Any_ sound. He was still too weak to leave the crown, so this was the most interaction he could achieve with anyone who didn’t want to kill him.

It was a sick sort of desire, to be frank, and he was disgusted with himself for seeking it out. Was this _really_ what he had devolved to? Was he _truly_ content to chase after Yugi like a dog chases its master? Sitting at his feet and waiting for any scraps he dropped out of pity? Pathetic.

Atem opened his eyes and grimaced. There were those unpleasant thoughts again. He’d almost begun to worry about where they’d gotten off to.

From the outside world, he heard a scrape and a clatter, like something heavy being dragged and something else falling.

_Shit_. _Okay, well you stay like that now. I hope I didn’t break you._

Yugi’s voice. Again. This time closer, and muttering to himself. If Atem could have sat bolt upright, he would have. Instead, he drank in every word like an eavesdropper trying to memorize a conversation heard through a keyhole.

_Um,_ said Yugi, louder this time, and Atem got the distinct impression he was being addressed. _How do I even want to say this?_

_Hi. I saw the eye was open again, so I guess that means you’re listening. Which is good, because something really cool happened today_.

There was a pause. Yugi took a shaky breath. Atem almost encouraged him to keep speaking, before remembering he wouldn’t be heard.

_I got called into the producer’s office today,_ Yugi continued, _and he greenlit my game. The one from the pitch a little while ago._

Atem couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face. “How wonderful,” he murmured, if only to himself.

_The CEO was there too, actually, he said my presentation was really good. And you helped me out with it so I… figured you’d want to know that it paid off. So, thank you._

_Oh, and they’re letting me be the game director too. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you so uh. It just means I get to be in charge of the creative vision. And stuff. I get to make sure the game is how I want it to be._

Director was not an easy title to misunderstand; Atem got the picture. He wished he could tell Yugi how proud he was.

_And that’s it. I guess. Uh, I hope that you’re—_

Yugi cut himself off with a frustrated groan.

_No. That’s not it. I’m…_ fuck _._

He stopped talking again, and the rustle of sheets and creak of a mattress filled the silence. Yugi breathed deeply.

_I wanted to say this when you came back,_ Yugi finally said, and his words dropped heavy into Atem’s soul. _But_ _I’m so sorry for everything I said to you on Saturday. I didn’t—it was just shitty of me. I was frustrated and… and scared. But that doesn’t excuse anything I did._

Atem couldn’t respond in any case, but even if it was possible, he wouldn’t have been able to. The blows delivered that night stung nearly as fresh as the _true_ injuries that decorated his body, but their impact faltered for a moment.

Because Yugi was afraid. Why? Of what?

When he spoke again, there was a break in his voice. _I know that—that you’re probably still mad. And I get it, I’d be pretty pissed at me too. I understand if you can’t…_

He made a squeamish noise, as if he were holding back words he didn’t want to say.

_If you can’t forgive me, and you don’t want to come back, I get it. Don’t feel bad._

It was quiet in the Between. That comment was deafeningly loud to the lone soul inhabiting it.

Atem went stiff in shock. Had it been so long already that Yugi was starting to think he wouldn’t come _back_? Time meant little in the Between, but…

_I guess I’m done now._ Yugi sniffed, hard. _I hope you’re okay_.

Atem was not okay. Clearly, he wasn’t. He was gravely injured and would likely continue to be injured for a long while. But that wasn’t what Yugi meant.

Was he angry? No, not anymore. He wouldn’t pretend he had never been angry, but his rage had since passed. Was he hurt? Yes. Forgiveness was a process, and he was not quite at the end of it yet. But an endless grudge was beyond him when it came to Yugi. Even for this.

Was that foolish? Perhaps. As was handing over his heart to one who could not –or would not – keep it. Yet he found both worth the risk. If that made him a fool, so be it.

And fool that he was, he wished he could talk back to Yugi. To explain his situation, somehow. To explain his _feelings_ in a clearer manner. He had not exactly been himself during the time of his confession, and there was more to say. So much more.

There was a reason he hadn’t admitted it before, and not only for the obvious, practical reasons – being dead, for starters. But he refused to admit it to himself, tried to bury it until an avalanche of “more important” things. Hazim, passing on, trying to work out how one would lead to the other. He never dismissed them. Just worked around them, taking endless detours and making ever complex excuses.

His resolve did break, once. And it never recovered.

Unlike Yugi’s arm, Atem couldn’t wear a cast around his heart – or lack thereof – and so that fall down the stairs was a lethal fracture in his composure. Yugi fell, literally. Atem fell in a less concrete sense.

From there, it was bliss. Followed by panic.

Because Feriha was waiting for him. Somewhere. An afterlife most assuredly existed, so she _would_ be there. She had waited – was _still_ waiting – for centuries to see him again. And assuming only the best for himself – the problem named Hazim taken care of, able to pass on without a hitch, ensuring Yugi wouldn’t suffer repercussions from it all – he would be leaving a piece of his heart in the living world. Was this not unfaithful? Would she resent him if she knew? When Yugi died, decades later, would a piece of him _still_ be with him? Would it be better to lie to her, lie to Yugi, or both? What would happen if he told the _truth_?

It was all very confusing. A wry part of him might even take a second death over such a scenario.

But the universe enjoyed playing exceedingly cruel games. So Atem was struck with a monstrous anger at himself, at the world, at his wretched feelings, and took out his rage on an innocent woman. He was ashamed to say the catharsis wasn’t worth the end result. The end result being everything that followed.

He wished he knew how long it had been since he’d left. In the Between, there was no way to track days, nor hours, nor even minutes. The only time that existed was the present. It was how he’d lost centuries to an endless white expanse and his own jibbering. And time mattered even less so as a ghost – it took no physical toll, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat. Time was created for the living. It did not suit the dead.

But how _long_ had he been gone if Yugi truly believed he wouldn’t come back? Days, certainly. Had it already been a week?

Atem now had another mistake to add to his generous collection.

He stared up unto the Between, into the infinite colorlessness, and tried to force his voice beyond the barrier, somehow, to push itself into the living world and make Yugi _hear him_.

“I am so sorry, dove.” The apology landed flatly beside him in the silence.

Atem had no chest to clench. Nor throat to form lumps. Nor ducts to make tears.

No, this was much more painful.

With nothing left to do, he closed his eyes, refocused his energy. And he waited.

 

 

Living without Atem was, for lack of better description, complete agony.

It had only been three days, and Yugi felt like he was living in a different house. It was unnaturally quiet every morning, like he lived in a soundproof bubble. He kept expecting Atem to _appear_. Like usual. Snap himself into existence and start drawing or asking about work or—or _something_.

And everything was too warm. He thanked whatever lucky stars he still had that it was getting colder outside, so he could have at least a little false comfort. He hadn’t even noticed how much a cold house had become normal until it was gone.

After the fourth day, he had to take the games off the fridge. And the movie list, and the game list, and every sketch he found around the house, tucked into corners and inside board game boxes and even one under his mattress.

He took all of them and the sketchbook, and stored them with the long-unused notepads at the bottom of his dresser. Deep, deep in the back, under all his clothes, and somewhere he didn’t go digging around often. He didn’t want to accidentally find them. It was bad enough finding it all on purpose.

The framed daguerreotype he left face down, from when he’d knocked it over. It was bad enough having to put the crown back up there, after his “conversation.” The only reason he hadn’t hid both of them with everything else was because of a ridiculous spark of hope that maybe, _maybe_ , he would come back.

Day five. Nothing.

Yugi’s apartment was now wholly undecorated, and hardly lived in. He woke up, he went to work, he came home, he went to bed. He didn’t want to spend any more time dwelling on his situation than he had to. He wouldn’t _let_ himself dwell on it. He was going to force himself to move on. He was going to work _so hard_ he wouldn’t even have time to think about moving on. It would just _happen_.

An old warning from Jou and the taste of greasy bowling alley pizza scratched at the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to pay attention to _that_ either. How was he supposed to ask for _help_ in a situation like this? Who was he supposed to talk to? He hardly believed it himself.

He woke up on day six – Friday. He’d be starting direction on his game come Monday. It was almost exciting.

But to say he “woke up” would imply he’d been sleeping. In reality, Yugi struggled to close his eyes for hours all week. And when he did open them that morning, it was just long enough that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before his alarm went off.

He got up anyway. Might as well, right?

He dragged himself out of bed and tried to blink away the static that coated his thoughts on the way to the kitchen. His brain swirled like water circling a drain, but never siphoned itself out. It just continued to rush around and around, until he gave up trying to make sense of it. 

He performed his morning routine on autopilot. Impressively, without sticking his hand under the coffee maker instead of the mug for a _real_ wake-up call. But his cast got in the way of a lot of his preparations – he was already short, but now reaching high shelves was near impossible. It was still awkward to grab and hold things, and working with one and half hands didn’t work as well as he thought it would. He was used to having another set of hands, but those hands were currently in another dimension. At least his left hand had recovered enough to be fully functional.

Yugi got himself together as best he could. Which wasn’t amazing. But thanks to his demolished sleep schedule, he still had well over an hour to get to work and still be early.

He poured a second mug of coffee, and stood in the kitchen with it. He listened to the coffee maker sputter and cough. He breathed in the hot steam curling off his drink. He leaned against the counter. He stared into the empty room. He listened to silence.  

Yugi took his coffee with him as he left the house to sit on the stairs.

He plunked down on the top step and glanced around. It was the epitome of a quiet, gray morning. The sun was still crawling its way up the horizon, thin golden rays peeking over and around buildings and breaking through wispy clouds. There were birds chirping, flitting through the air to roost on a windowsill. The air still held a sharp chill, left over from the previous night and signaling what was coming as late autumn turned to winter.

It was… slightly better.

Yugi stared down the steps to the dirt of the driveway, sipping his coffee. To any strangers that might be watching, he looked like he was practicing his best “bored in a mandatory meeting” face. His eyes focused in and out on the world, not caring to absorb any of it for longer than it took to blink.  He took another sip of his coffee.

When his mug came down, he saw quite a rare sight. One he hadn’t seen in weeks.

 Fukuyama’s car – his by-all-accounts absentee landlord’s car – pull into the driveway. Yugi watched, wide-eyed, as a _human being_ appeared before his eyes, a human being that was his landlord. He almost thought the sleep deprivation was causing hallucinations.

If Fukuyama had been absent before, he had hardly existed since the day Yugi found Hazim’s journal. Yugi had taken to slipping his rent payments under the door and praying he’d see them. Nothing had been brought up about it, so he assumed it was taken care of. But it was a little hard not to worry – what if something happened to him? What if someone _else_ had been collecting his checks?

The evidence before his eyes was damning, however. Fukuyama was alive, and still coming to… do whatever he did when he visited.

Yugi stuck up his good arm and waved. “Good morning,” he called down.

Fukuyama didn’t so much as glance in his direction. He brusquely continued his journey to the door on the first floor, fishing around in his pocket. Yugi frowned into his mug. _Rude_ , he thought. _I’ve been alone here with your resident ghosts for_ months _and you can’t even say ‘good morning’_?

Then—

_Does he know this place is haunted?_

Yugi put down his mug as fast as he could without shattering it and took the steps down. Quickly.

He skidded around the corner and doubled back under the stairs. Fukuyama stood at the front door, keys in hand.

“Good morning!” Yugi repeated, forcefully.

Fukuyama jumped around, pressing a startled hand to his chest. “Oh!” he gasped. “Oh, it’s just you. Good morning.”

Yugi put on a bright smile. “Yep, just me. Who else?”

The landlord nodded and smiled, but there was still a spark of fear in his eyes. Like a rabbit ready to make a break for it. “Yes. How are you?” Before Yugi could respond, Fukuyama frowned at his cast. “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell,” Yugi explained, gesturing to the stairs. “I wasn’t looking where I was going one morning, and learned my lesson _really_ fast.”

Fukuyama nodded, fast, a clear sign that he wanted the conversation to be over now. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you recover quickly. I’ve got something to take care of so…”

He gestured with his keys. As he did, the sleeve of his shirt pulled up, and Yugi caught the sight of bandage wraps. They looked days old at most, with dried blood still visible on the belly of his forearm in a widespread pool.

“Oh no,” Yugi said, pointing it out. “What happened to _your_ arm?”

“Nothing serious. Just a mishap in the kitchen, that’s all.”

Yugi couldn’t help but think the wound was a little high up for a “mishap.” But Fukuyama was tapping his hand against his thigh, eyes begging to end the discussion _immediately._

“Bummer,” Yugi said, and started backing up toward the stairs. “I hope you feel better. I have to get to work now, but have a good day!”

Fukuyama barely mumbled a reply under his breath before jamming the key in the door, turning it, and letting the first floor swallow him up in one swift motion. Yugi hadn’t even made it to the base of the stairs yet.

He turned around and continued his way slowly back up to his apartment. He didn’t like the way that felt. At all. But what could he do? He didn’t even know what Fukuyama’s problem was. He was having a hard time coming to grips with his _own_ problems.

Yugi bent down and picked up his mug of coffee off the top step. He almost took a sip, but grimaced as it touched his lips, cold.

There was something about drinking coffee alone that made it cool faster than usual.

 

 

Yugi hadn’t been lying to Fukuyama – he _did_ need to get to work. The question was if he would be effective at all once he got there.

The fear-induced clarity that had taken hold of him upon seeing his landlord had faded quickly. He stumbled into the studio, plopped down at his desk, and forced himself through the sleeplessness. He got into the habit of triple-checking his work to make sure he wasn’t making a mistake, erasing it, and making the exact same mistake again. On the bright side, his schedule for the day was clear but for one meeting. Not much brain power required, but it did require him to be awake that morning instead of sneaking to the break room for a power nap.

A small bright spot was Yoshida forwarding him the information about the teams he’d be working with on his game, starting Monday, along with a schedule for the pipeline, meetings between himself and the individual teams, marketing plans, distribution methods…

_That’s a lot of stuff_ , his tired brain observed. _That’s a_ lot _of stuff_.

Yugi shoved the complaints out of his conscious thoughts. He didn’t need to go over all of it immediately. One task at a time.

And speaking of tasks – his meeting was coming up soon. He only had a few minutes to spare, and probably should have been there already. Oh well. They’d understand if he was a little late.

Gathering up his note-taking materials, Yugi headed for the conference room, weaving in and out of the already busy studio, people passing by saying good morning, others already waist deep in work. He let the bright patterned walls and decorated personal spaces cheer him up on his way, a slight skip in his otherwise tired step. Even with his personal life effectively in shambles, the studio was always somewhere he could go to do what he loved and be with people who felt the same. How many people could say their office was like a second home?

He closed in on his destination, only to grind to a halt when he reached the conference room, and saw it already in use through the wide glass windows. A sign on the door marked it as reserved for a completely _different_ group.

He frowned at the group of people sitting around the office table, taking up what _should_ have been reserved for the meeting he was supposed to be at. It couldn’t have been cancelled – he would have been told about it. Everyone on the list would have been notified. But no one else from that meeting was even waiting around. What was going _on_?

“Yugi?”

Aikawa appeared at his side, a manila folder in one hand and a confused look on her face.

“Hey, good morning” he replied, and jerked a thumb toward the in-use conference room. “Isn’t there supposed to be a finalization meeting for the pipeline and the end of the quarter right now?”

She glanced behind him. “We had one _last week._ ”

Last week? He frowned. “What?”

“Remember? Last week, the higher-ups came in and talked to us about all that corporate shit.”

But that didn’t make any sense. “What day is it today?”

“The eleventh.”

No. No, it couldn’t already be the eleventh, because that would mean last week was…

Shit. He had been looking at his schedule for last week. For _last week_ , what the hell was he _doing_?

“Ah,” he said. “That makes a lot more sense.” His vision blurred, and he palmed at his eyes with his left hand. He surprised himself when it came away wet.

Aikawa rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay? Did something happen—”

“Nothing _happened,_ it was my fault anyway.”

He didn’t know why he said that.

He had absolutely no idea why he said that.

But as soon as it was out of his mouth, he was trying to blink away the consistent blur in his eyes and feeling it slide down his cheeks and trying to wipe it away as fast he could because _Dammit, I don’t need this right now, I don’t have_ time _to_ —

“Yugi,” Aikawa said, firm but friendly. “Do you want to sit down?”

He laughed, but it sounded like a cough. “Yeah.”

She ushered him forward, no questions asked. Yugi tried to save his composure, ignoring the beginnings of a headache from holding back tears and hoping his smile didn’t look watery. He didn’t need the office gossip, especially when he was about to be the director of his own project.

Aikawa lead him to the break room, mercifully empty. Yugi plopped down on the first chair he could reach, and she sat down next to him, resting her folder in her lap.

“Did you need to talk?” she asked. “Or just sit for a minute?”

_Did_ he need to talk? Probably. But how was he supposed to explain the increasingly ridiculous situation he found himself in?

“It’s complicated,” he said.

She shrugged. “A lot of things are.”

“Trust me, this is weird. I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

_My ghost roommate confessed his love and disappeared into the ether_ , he thought. Clearly, that’s not how he was going to explain this. Yugi rubbed his eyes again and sighed.

“I’ve got this—” he started, and immediately paused. “Friend. He kind of lives with me.” _Because he’s dead._  “We’re not officially roommates, but we’re around each other so often he might as well live with me. We’ve only known each other since I moved earlier this year, but we’re…” He faltered. “We _were_ really close.” He swallowed thickly, and found he couldn’t open his mouth anymore.

Aikawa gracefully took up the mantle of speaking. “You ‘were’ close?”

“We had a falling out.”

“What happened?”

Yugi opened his mouth, and realized he didn’t know where to start. _When_ did this downward spiral begin? The argument? Asking Rebecca out? The rice fiasco? Breaking his arm? Meeting in the first place?

“I realized,” he finally said, and braced himself, “I have feelings for him. But it wouldn’t work out for a lot of reasons.”

“Does he need a kick in the ass?”

Her response shocked a laugh out of him. “No, nothing like that. He’s…” _Dead. A ghost. In an eternal war with another ghost. Incorporeal._ “He’s married. Sort of.”

Aikawa furrowed her brows. “How can you be ‘sort of’ married?”

“I don’t think they’re together anymore, but they never got divorced ‘officially.’ If that makes any sense.”

“Not really, but I trust you.”

_If only you knew the half of it._ “I told you it was complicated.”

She nodded. “You did. And it seems pretty complicated so far.”

“Believe it or not, it gets worse.”

Aikawa leaned back, leaving the conversation open for him to continue.

“I didn’t tell him how I felt because of that and some _other_ reasons.” He glanced away for a moment. “I don’t really think I should—”

“Say no more. I don’t need every detail.”

He had never been more grateful to not have to explain something. “I kept it to myself for all those reasons. And I went out with someone else to try and force myself to get over it.”

She winced with a wry smile. “I’m sure that went well.”

Yugi returned her dryness. “I brought her over for a movie, and he quite literally chased her out.”

“Whoa, _what_?”

He wished he could just stop there. “I was mad about it, he was mad at me for being mad about it, we had a fight. And then he—” He choked on the sentence. It got stuck in the back of his throat and his next words were rushed. “He said he was in love with me. And then he left, and hasn’t come back.”

Aikawa took a slow breath. “That’s… rough.”

He nodded. He pinched his eyes shut and tried to force the tears back into his tear ducts.

“How long ago was this?”

“Almost a week.”

She shook her head, at a loss. “Have you tried calling him?”

“Yeah.” He thought back to his confessional with the crown, sitting on his bed, holding it in his hands and hoping beyond hope something would happen. “He didn’t answer. I left a message, but I don’t think he’s even listening.”

Aikawa scooted a little closer to him, putting her hand on his arm. “I know you said you were close, but are you sure you shouldn’t just let this one go? In love or not, this is cold.”

Yugi’s gut twisted in a painfully familiar way. “He’s not a _bad_ person.”

“I never said he was. We all fuck up, but abandoning you without explanation doesn’t sound like something a _friend_ would do.”

He let those words settle. They didn’t agree with him.

“Why’d you say it was your fault?” she pressed.

“Because it _is_ my fault.” Yugi dug the heel of his palm into his eyes. “I was scared and angry and I said some awful things to him. I didn’t even _mean_ any of it. I just wanted to make this whole—” he gestured vaguely at his chest “—situation go away.”

She stared thoughtfully at the table, but said nothing.

“I’m just worried he’d not going to come back,” Yugi added. He wished Atem could somehow hear this. “I don’t even care if he comes back to stay, or just to talk and then leave again. I just want to apologize. And tell him…” A lot. He wanted to say a lot.

Aikawa seemed to get the picture. She nodded and sighed and turned in her chair to face him head on. “In any other situation,” she began, “I’d tell you to kick him to the curb and leave him there. But you obviously care too much about him to do that. I think you should tell him what you just told me. Leave him another voicemail. If you know where he is, go there. _Make him_ listen to you. It’s his choice whether or not he decides to quit being an ass, but at least you can give him a piece of your mind.”

Yugi chewed on the inside of his cheek. Would the second time be the charm?

“I’ll try,” he said.

She nudged him playfully. “And if he gives you any more trouble, I’ll kick his ass.”

He laughed, not at her joke, but at the image of the scenario itself. “Thank you. I needed this.”

“We all do, sometimes.”

He sighed and dragged himself to his feet. “I’m going to see what I _actually_ have on my schedule today.”

Aikawa stood up with him. “Take care.”

“You too.”

They parted ways at the break room door, and Yugi plopped back down at his desk and hoped he didn’t miss anything vital during his crisis.

Luckily, nothing drastic. Just time. And from there, he couldn’t tell if the rest of the workday crawled by at a snail’s pace or flew by lightning fast. Whichever it was, the rest of it was ruled by his thoughts replaying Aikawa’s advice, over and over: _Make him listen_.

He knew Atem could hear him when he was in his crown-dimension. He also knew people in the same room could hear him. But hearing and listening were two different things, and he couldn’t guarantee _anyone_ would listen to him. Especially if they were hurt. Or a ghost. He needed Atem to _listen_. He needed to get his attention. Make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Like snakes, Hazim’s words slithered through his mind and strangled his train of thought: _All the pieces are set in place. He has simply been playing the game_

A dark haze settled over him. Was… that it? Was that what Atem would respond to? A sacrifice? His whole body went cold at the thought. His scar itched.

No. No, that couldn’t be it. There _had_ to be some other way. _Think, Yugi, think_.

He couldn’t rely on his previous method – which consisted of talking at the crown. He needed to treat this like a whole new beast. Like they were meeting for the first time again. 

_Like… we’re meeting for the first time…_

Unbidden, a plan started forming. Ideas taking shape, appearing and discarding themselves until he came up with something that just might work.

For the first time in a week, Yugi was out of the studio before anyone else had even shut down their computers. He was out on the dot, as soon as the hour struck, and wasted no time driving away.

Ironically, he hardly registered the act of driving itself. That part of his brain went on autopilot as the rest of it was dedicated to thinking over the plan that had been plaguing him the entire day. The steps he had formed, the blueprint he had drawn despite his sleep-addled mind and crestfallen heart. He had no idea if it even held water. But he knew he had to try.

The world came back into focus when he pulled into the driveway. He took the stairs one by one. He opened the door and shut it. It was as quiet as ever. As quiet as an empty house could be. Yugi was just as quiet as he went through the motions of his after-work routine.

He went to his room. He dropped his phone on his desk and took a breath.

This was it.

Yugi reached up for the crown. He bounced the cold weight in his hands. He held it up to eye-level and stared down the carving, determined.

“Let’s play cards,” he said, not leaving an inch for argument. “I think we should play cards.”

 

 

It was confusing to say the least.

Throat fully repaired, hole in his chest no bigger than his fist, Atem was only half concentrating when Yugi’s words echoed throughout the Between. And he wanted to… play cards?

It was not the first thing he expected to hear. It wasn’t something he expected to hear _at all_. To be quite honest, he had a hard time believing he had actually heard correctly. What purpose would playing cards serve, unless Yugi planned on playing Solitaire? Atem couldn’t even exit the crown to play.

_Liar_ , a frustratingly noble part of his mind corrected. And it was right.

It would not be easy, nor would it be ideal, but Atem could muster enough energy to leave the Between and return to the mortal world. He would still be injured, and he couldn’t recover from his injuries on the mortal plane. But it was possible.

Truly, he didn’t want to. Selfishly, he wanted to hide himself – to hide his shame. He still couldn’t count the days he’d been gone, but he knew that it had been a long while since Yugi had spoken to him last. And if he’d been so agitated then, what was he feeling now?

Well. From the sound of it, he wanted to play cards.

Regardless, Atem was content to be a silent observer for the time being. As content as he could be with his decisions that lead up to the moment, which wasn’t much. But he was conscious of the faint sounds from the living world, and he listened intently.

 

 

Yugi set the crown down on the coffee table. It made a soft _clunk_ , icy metal meeting polished wood.

Nothing had happened, of course. He hadn’t expected anything to happen. This was only step one.

Step two was a little more difficult. Yugi plucked a deck of playing cards off the bookshelf and dumped them into his hands. He shuffled as best he could with his casted hand, which wasn’t very well.

“Shuffling is a little harder than usual,” he said, fumbling them over his hands and spilling them into his lap. “If the deck is slanted in someone’s favor, blame the cast.”

Again, nothing. It was fine. He picked up the cards.

“You’d think it would feel weird for me to talk to myself and expect a response, but it’s actually weirder when I _don’t_ have someone talking back to me.” He arranged the cards back into a deck, making sure they were all facing the right way. “I’ve just gotten used to being haunted.”

More than gotten used to it. He _enjoyed_ it. He gave up on trying to bridge shuffle the cards and awkwardly held them in his right hand repeatedly cut the deck with his left.

“I can hardly believe there was ever a time in my life that I didn’t believe in ghosts. Look at me now.”

Yugi stared down at the shuffled deck in his hands.

“Look at me now,” he mumbled.

Well, that was that. On to step three.

He dealt the cards – one card for himself, one to an empty spot across the table.

“I know we haven’t played this in a while,” he continued, “but I figured now was as good a tie as any for Beggar My Neighbor, right? And we can play questions, too. For old time’s sake.”

He dealt until all the cards were gone. Half for himself, half unclaimed.

“You can go first,” he said.

And he waited.

 

 

This was unfair.

It was _outrageously_ unfair. And he suspected Yugi knew that.

Atem paced furiously around the Between. If he had hair to pull out, it would have been scattered across the endless white. Yugi was challenging him directly, and letting _him_ make the first move. It was so, so clear.

This was a trap.

He didn’t _have_ to accept the challenge, of course. He could just as easily stay isolated in his lonesome space for another century, and there would be nothing Yugi could do about it. He could refuse this game. He could refuse every push, shove, and coercion. It would be so simple to do nothing. So _easy_.

But that was the trap. Because if he _did_ refuse, he would never have another chance.

In letting Atem take the first move, Yugi was handing the future of the game to _him_. A single, well made, opening play in _any_ game could spell downfall for one’s opponent. And that’s what this was. Atem had to make the opening play, and set the pace of the game. _He_ had to be the one to push everything forward.

Because Yugi could do nothing. Yugi was alone and had _been_ alone for a not-insignificant amount of time, with no way to know why. He’d even tried to reach out, with no response. Regardless of the reason for silence, Yugi had every right to feel abandoned. This wasn’t simply a trap – this was a last resort. This was Yugi deferring to him to decide their relationship to one another. It was all up to him.

It was brilliant.

It was tortuously, achingly, _painfully_ brilliant.

And in that moment, he made his choice.

 

 

This… was supposed to be the part where something happened.

Yugi sat, staring at the opposing deck of cards for long enough that he started to worry. He didn’t want to flip the cards over _for_ Atem, because that would ruin everything about this situation. It was the only thing he could imagine that would _make_ Atem listen. And now…

He rapped on the table in front of the crown. “Hello?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Anyone home?”

Silence. No smoke. Nothing moved

Yugi ran his hands through his hair, trying not to panic or doing something stupid. He took a deep breath. He decided he was going to count back from sixty. After that, he’d…

He didn’t know what he’d do. Maybe he’d give up. Push on. If this didn’t work, he was out of ideas.

The room remained dead silent for seven seconds. Eight second. Ten.

Fifteen.

Twenty-five.

Thirty-three.

The deck across the table righted itself. It set itself back down. It flipped over a single card – the ace of hearts.

Yugi could have burst into tears right then, but he didn’t. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, past the apologies, past everything he wanted to say.

“An ace already?” he said, trying to joke. “It’s like I didn’t even shuffle at all.”

There wasn’t a response, but he didn’t need one. The room temperature had dropped and that was all he needed to know.

Yugi flipped over four cards from his deck, all of them duds. The victorious space across the table swept its prize away, slipping it underneath the rest of its deck.

“You get to ask me something now,” Yugi encouraged. “Go ahead.”

The corner of the card on the top of the opposing deck lifted and fell, like it was being thumbed at. No question was forthcoming.

“I can get you some paper,” Yugi offered, already standing up. “I didn’t think you would need it, so I didn’t—”

“No, Yugi. I can speak.”

He heard that voice and froze in place and _clenched_ his eyes shut. He had to close his eyes. He _had to_. “Okay,” he replied. It was more of a whimper.

He slowly lowered himself back down onto the couch, eyes still pressed together.

"Will you open your eyes?" Atem asked. It was almost a whisper.

He tried to laugh. It came out strangled. He didn’t open his eyes. "Is that your question?"

"It can be."

"That's a bad question."

"Not to me."

Yugi didn’t know what to do. He was scared – _so_ scared – to open his eyes. Afraid that what he saw might disappear again, slipping through his hands like water. 

"Please look at me, Yugi."

He couldn't stop himself that time.

Yugi opened his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Atem was there. _Really_ there, in his transparent form again. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, one hand thumbing the top card of his deck. His face was screwed up as if he was in pain, his other arm sheepishly thrown across his chest to grasp the opposite shoulder. There was so much swimming in his eyes – guilt, regret, gratitude, awe, and a deep, powerful longing. It hurt to look at, physically _hurt_ , but now that Yugi had opened his eyes, he couldn’t look away.

They said nothing for a stretch of time that felt endless. Yugi broke the silence.

“Come on,” he said. “Ask a different question, that one sucked.”

"It was not," Atem said, as sincere as anything he’d ever said.

"I'm giving you a free question. Take it."

Atem paused again, staring at the card between his transparent fingers. "How are you?" he finally asked, and Yugi almost laughed.

"Not awesome.” He wasn’t brave enough to lie. "I haven’t been getting the best sleep.”

Atem looked like he was going to say more, mouth poised to open, but never did. He simply flipped over his top card, and the game resumed.

They traded numbers back and forth, the only sound the laying of cards and Yugi's heavy exhales. It felt better to breathe deep. For some reason, he felt like he’d forget _how_ to breathe if he didn’t make a conscious effort to fill his lungs and empty them out.

The next round was Yugi's, and he found himself collecting cards without a single question on his tongue.

“How… are _you_?” he decided. Nothing else would come to him.

Atem closed his eyes a shook his head. “I have not been resting easy, either.”

He dropped the arm slung across his chest. Yugi’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when he saw the fist-sized hole – the hole that his arm had mostly covered. It was hard to hide anything with a transparent body, but Yugi hadn’t been looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“It used to be much worse,” Atem said. “I was trapped in there—” he waved a hand toward the crown “—until I was well enough to leave.”

Yugi’s chest went concave. “Oh.”

Atem was quick to jump on that single syllable. “I heard everything you said, and if I could have answered you, I would have. I swear it.”

Yugi nodded. “I believe you. I just… if I would have known, I… I thought you were avoiding me.”

Atem grimaced. “An unfortunate happenstance.”

“Yeah.”

Yugi flipped over another card, and the game continued.

The next round went long. A string of incomplete face-cards raced out from their decks -- king, king, jack, ace, queen, jack. It felt endless. Until, at last, the round belonged to the ghost. Yugi looked at his deck: a little more than half depleted. Atem definitely had most of his face cards now.

“How long was I absent?” Atem asked.

“Six days,” Yugi replied, quickly. Way too quickly.

“Ah.” He made himself busy adjusting his deck. “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t have a choice, right?”

“I could have chosen not to leave in the first place.”

Yugi brushed the suggestion off with a shrug. “What’s done is done. You’re back now, right?”

Atem nodded firmly. Definitively. “Yes. I am.”

Three words.

It sounded a lot bigger than three words.

The game played on. Yugi got to reclaim a few of his face cards as he took the next win.

"This isn't really a question," he said, his voice betraying him when it cracked, “and I know I already said I was sorry, but—”

Atem shook his head. “Yugi—”

"No, I _need_ to—to say this.” It was hard to work past the growing knot in his throat, but _dammit_ , he tried. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said last week, and I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I wish I never said it at all. I guess I do have a question, actually. Um.” He had to stop and clear his throat, or he would never get this out. "Can you forgive me?"

The look Atem gave him stopped time. “I already have.”

Yugi found himself unable to speak, palming at his eyes. He gave up trying to prevent the tears from coming, and looked down at his lap with a watery smile. Two slow drops slid down his cheeks.

"Thank you," he croaked.

He flipped over a card before either of them could say anything else. And to distract his eyes from looking up. 

It was another short round. Yugi was hardly paying attention to the cards he put down. He didn’t realize the round was over until he saw the deck disappear into transparent hands.

"I suppose," said the ghost, "it is my turn to ask."

Yugi nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. 

"Can you forgive _me_?"

Confused, Yugi looked up from the table, only to wish he hadn’t. Atem was crumbling in on himself, the guilt and pain that had been trapped in his eyes finally escaping, bleeding over his face, his body, his words. 

“Forgive you for what?” Yugi asked. “You were stuck in there.”

“Beforehand, I was grossly inconsiderate of you and Rebecca both. I should have said something long ago. About how I felt.”

Yugi couldn’t exactly point fingers in that direction. In _any_ direction. He opened his mouth to answer, but Atem kept going.

“I was foolish for leaving in the first place. I did not expect to be stuck there, but I chose to go there of my own accord. I did what I said I would never do, and I am truly sorry.”

Yugi furrowed his brows, even more confused than he had been. “What?”

Atem’s eyes flicked to the cast. “Do you not remember?”

He started to shake his head, but he looked down at his broken arm and the memory came back to him. The memory of being bloodied and hurting and still forcing himself to sit up and ask, _Don’t leave?_

And a ghost, half materialized, responding, _Never. I never leave you._

"Oh," he said, lamely. "I didn't think you really meant that."

Atem actually _laughed_. It was broken and hollow, but it was a laugh. "Of course I did, Yugi. How could I not?"

"I just thought you were saying it to make me feel better. ‘Never’ is a long time, and—”

"I meant every word." 

There it was again. Words greater than the sum of their parts.

"I forgive you,” Yugi said.

Atem looked taken aback, as though he didn't quite believe it."You do?"

“I forgave you the moment you sat down."

He hadn't consciously thought it, but it was true. Anything Atem had done was out the window long ago. Just being able to hear him, see him, knowing he was there – that he was _back_. That was enough. That was all he needed. It meant they were both willing to fix things. To move past this. One step at a time.

Atem flipped a card, and the game continued.

As the round went on, trading numbers back and forth, Yugi wanted to say something, but had nothing _to_ say. He felt like he should break the silence, but found his throat empty of words. Instead, he would occasionally lock eyes with Atem across the table, and a jolt raced through to his heart. Then they broke away again. On and on. Flipping cards. 

He wanted to scream. Not out of fear or frustration or even excitement – just to get the tension out of his body. To loosen his taut muscles. To soothe his aching bones. To feel like he could _relax_ again. For some reason, sitting on one end of the table with Atem at the other, as they had done so many times, was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

Finally, Yugi took the round. He collected up the cards, taking his time to align them all, stacking them under his remaining cards while he tried to think of something to say. Atem waited across the table. Patient. Quiet.

So close, and still so far away.

“Can I tell you something?” Yugi asked.

Atem’s face lifted in a half-smile. “Is that your question?”

He played along with the mirrored conversation. “It can be.”

“Not a very good one.”

Yugi was trapped somewhere between laughing and crying. “It’s good to me.”

Atem folded his hands on the table. “In that case, you may tell me whatever you wish.”

Anything he wanted. He could say anything he wanted.

“Want” was a very strong word. “Need“ felt more accurate.

“I never really wanted to be with Rebecca,” he said, and it felt so good and so painful to say it out loud at the same time. “I’m sure you probably figured that out by now. That whole thing was a really, _really_ dumb idea I had to try to force feelings for someone because…”

Looking at Atem and saying this was impossible. He couldn’t do it. It was going to be stuck on the back of his tongue forever. He focused on the back of the playing cards, tracing the patters with his eyes. His vision blurred before he even opened his mouth.

“Because I love you,” he forced out, and hoped it was legible through the wavering, “but there are just so many reasons why it can’t work, and I didn’t know what to do – I _still_ don’t really know what to do, and I think I’m _more_ scared now. I should have said something too, but instead I _really_ messed up.” He stopped to sniff and wipe his eyes and chance a look back across table.

Atem was completely still. It was as if Yugi had slapped him, eyes wide in astonishment, sitting ramrod straight and leaning backward in shock.

Was that a good sign or a bad sign? Yugi had absolutely no idea. Anxiety bubbled in the pits of his stomach.

“That’s not bad, is it?” he asked. He didn’t even wait for an answer before blurting,  “You still love me, right?"

The sob took him by surprise. It crawled up his throat and out his mouth before he even had a chance to stop it. He bit his bottom lip to try and hold another back, but the tears were already carving paths down his cheeks. He hunched over, curling into himself and trying to disappear altogether. 

A cold hand appeared at the side of his face, tilting his head back up. A cold thumb brushed away the continuous fall of tears.

"Yugi," Atem murmured, sweet and gentle. "My perfect dove. You have no _idea_ how much I love you."

Yugi blinked away the blur in his eyes. Atem knelt on the ground in front of him, looking up with the kindest smile he'd ever seen. He couldn't help but lean into the barely-there touch of the ghostly hand, needing more but incapable of getting it. Atem put his other hand in Yugi’s lap, and Yugi held onto it as tight as he could without passing through it.

"You are the sun," he continued, "the moon, and all of the stars. When I look at you, I am overcome. When you smile, I feel as though I have died twice. There is nothing in this world or the next that could even shake the _foundations_ of my love. Not anything. Not even you." He brushed the hand on Yugi's cheek through his hair, circling all around to come back to where it started. "Does that answer your question, dove?"

Yugi sniffed, growing a watery smile. "You're better at words than me."

"Only when I speak something I know to be true."

Atem dropped his hand from his face to wipe at the tears on the other side. The cold was soothing against his skin. "There now. No need for that.”

“I really missed you," Yugi said.

Atem dropped his hand down to where their others still clung. “You will never have to again.”

"I know."

And he did know. _Neither_ of them would be doing anything like the past week again. Not without a really good reason – and no reason would ever be good enough. 

Experimentally, Yugi slipped his hand away from the pile and brushed it through Atem’s transparent hair. It felt less like hair and more like shaved ice – and like something else entirely. It was hard to describe touching something that didn’t fully exist.

“Can you feel things?” he asked, continuing to graze his hand through the odd sensation.

Atem hummed, folding his hands together in Yugi’s lap. “Not in the way I could when I was alive. Instead of feeling you hand, I feel your soul.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“I suppose so.”

He raked his fingers through one last time, then dropped his hand and patted the cushion next to him. "You should sit up here instead.”

“As you wish.”

Atem dragged himself up through the air to touch down feather-light on top of it, one hand still holding the cast. Yugi pushed the transparent arm up and out of the way he could tuck himself under it, curling himself into Atem's cold side. The ghost dropped the arm around his shoulders, tugging him close, and rested his head on top of Yugi's. It was like being wrapped in a cold blanket, and twice as comfortable.

And yet…

“Are you sure this is okay?” Yugi asked. “This as in _us_.”

“Of course,” Atem said, with no hesitation. “Why do you ask?”

He really didn’t want to bring this up. He wanted to enjoy this. But they couldn’t avoid it forever. “What happens when you pass on? What about Feriha?”

There was a long pause before Atem answered. “I have considered this. Two centuries can change a person fundamentally. And it has certainly changed me.” He looked down at himself. “As much as I would like to believe otherwise, I am not the same man I was. I do not believe she would know me. And if, somehow, I were to be able to become that man again, I do not believe _you_ would know me.”

Yugi didn’t have counterpoint for that. He was already convinced that his identify from _five_ years ago had been a different person, much less two hundred years.

“Nothing in life in guaranteed,” Atem continued. “Nor in the afterlife, for that matter, and time only muddies matters. There is a very good chance that, wherever she is, she is facing the same dilemma that plagues us now.”

“I didn’t know her,” Yugi said, “but I think she’d want you to be happy.”

He nodded. “Some version of me, yes. And _this_ makes me happy.”

“Me too.” Yugi smiled, but it faltered. “But…”

Atem finished the thought for him. “But not for long?”

Hearing it out loud was worse than thinking it. “I don’t want to start a countdown or anything, but there are a lot of limitations to _this_.”

“That is why I was silent for so long. I would never want to impose such a weight on you.”

“It’s why I didn’t say anything either.”

They fell silent. The abandoned playing cards lay on the table innocently. The decks were almost back to equal standing again.

“I don’t think,” Yugi said, “anything good would come out of pretending like we don’t want to be together.”

Atem did his best to tug them even closer together. “Agreed.”

“But it’s not going to be easy, either.”

The ghost didn’t have a comment for that one.

Mentally, Yugi created a checklist of things people in relationships did and started crossing items off the list. They couldn’t go out together, publicly – it was hard enough to date a _living_ man, much less a dead one. There wasn’t ever a future of marriage. He couldn’t tell his friends about it, or his family. Atem’s family was _long_ dead. Every event that involved a “plus one” was out of the question, too. They couldn’t even do most _physical_ things couples could do.

Could they?

“Question,” Yugi said.

“Ask away.”

“Can you kiss me? Like, physically, are you capable?”

It was a genuine question, but it was possible ulterior motives were involved.

Atem frowned thoughtfully. “I can honestly say I’ve never _attempted_ such a thing. But if I can touch you at all, I would assume yes?”

“Do you want to find out for sure?”

He poked at the side of Yugi’s head. “Ah, how clever of you.”

“Who said I was trying to be clever?”

Atem snorted. Yugi shoved him away lightly. The ghost unfolded himself from their tangle and crossed his arms haughtily.

“Come _on_ ,” Yugi implored. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Atem sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “If I _must_.”

“Well _now_ I’m thinking you just don’t want to.”

“Thinking, are you? Try not to put yourself out, darling.”

Yugi tried to be offended by that, but he laughed instead. He stood up from the couch with a goofy smile. “I can just leave. I’m just gonna leave.”

Atem floated up to him, arms outstretched. “Come now, I was only—”

“Nope!” Yugi put his hands in the air, walking backwards away from the ghost. “It’s too late, you missed your chance.”

Atem advanced on him. “ _Really_ now?”

“Really! You totally blew it.”

“You are _incorrigible_.”

“You’re a monster and a scoundrel!”

Atem laughed, loud and strong, and it was the most beautiful sound Yugi had heard in a _long_ time.

It almost distracted him from the ghost lunging through the air like a cat. He ducked out of the way with inches to spare, hunched over in a defensive stance.

“Come _here_ , Yugi,” Atem demanded, wearing a smile bordering on feral.

Yugi was already backing up. “No way.”

“You must not have heard me, dearest. I said, come _here!_ ”

Atem lunged again. Yugi jumped backwards and dashed for the dinner table. He swung one of the chairs out and ducked behind it.

“Shields are useless against me,” Atem said.

Yugi dared poking his head out. “Who said this was a shield?”

He shoved the chair away as hard as he could. It slid along the floor like it was on wheels, barreling for the ghost across the room.

Atem was quick, but not quick enough. The chair cut right through his lower half, and skidded to a stop behind him. He convulsed in the air, a look on his face like he’d caught a whiff of a locker room that hadn’t been cleaned in fifteen years.

“Never underestimate your opponent!” Yugi crowed.

Atem shook himself out like a wet dog. “Playing dirty, I see.”

“You never said I couldn’t.”

“And neither did you.”

_Uh oh_.

Yugi watched in horror as Atem gave him a cheeky wave.

And disappeared.

“Oh, that is _so_ uncool,” he groaned, doubling back to the couch and snatching a throw pillow. He needed a melee weapon, now more than ever.

“You started it,” said Atem’s voice. It was impossible to pinpoint a direction.

Yugi swung wildly with the pillow. “ _You_ started it.”

“No, no. I do believe it was you.”

The voice was getting closer now. Yugi kept his eyes and ears peeled for every single detail. “It was definitely you.”

He didn’t get a response. That was the worst outcome imaginable.

He paced in a circle around the room, snapping his head around every time he heard the rush of wind, swinging at the air every time it felt even slightly colder than usual. No luck.

“This _so_ uncool!” he repeated. Again, no response.

How worth it would it be to back himself into a corner? Nah, Atem could phrase through walls, that wouldn’t work. If he got _two_ pillows, one for each hand, and spun around in a circle, that might work. It would give him a bubble of defenses, at the very least.

Yugi inched back toward the couch. Every muscle in his body was tense. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to let him run a marathon. He reached over the arm of the couch, groping for a pillow.

He couldn’t find one.

Behind him, a voice asked, “Looking for something?”

Yugi whirled around with _swung_ with his pillow, knocking the other, suspiciously floating pillow out of the air.

He didn’t intend to let _go_.

Yugi almost covered his eyes as he watched both pillows sail merrily through the air. One collided with the bookshelf of games, jostling the stack and knocking a few smaller boxes to the floor. The other had a shorter destination, landing on the coffee table, sliding, and knocking everything to the floor. Including the long-forgotten playing cards.

“Maybe we should stop now,” Yugi ventured, glancing to the empty air at his side.

Atem appeared in the space, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Agreed.”

“Why were we fighting again?”

“I—” He paused with his mouth half open. “I do not remember.”

Yugi shook his head with an exasperated smile. “Alright, well, we should clean this up.”

He started for the cards first, but a cold hand tugged gently on the elbow of his cast. He turned around. “Yes?”

Atem used his leverage to swim through the air, closing the distance.s “I remember now.”

He didn’t have to lean in much farther for a kiss.

Yugi expected it to be cold, and it was. But it wasn’t an unfriendly cold, or a painful one, but a comforting chill. It was like kissing air given form, wind that somehow had arms to wrap and a body to hold in return – carefully, for the sake of keeping it intact. It was strange, it was unnatural. And it was perfect.

Atem didn’t have to breathe, but Yugi did. He pulled back with half-lidded eyes and close to dissolving on the spot.

“Well?” Atem said.

Yugi couldn’t form words, much less sentences. “Mhm.”

“Oh dear. The poor thing is broken.”

The stupidest, happiest grin stretched across Yugi’s face. He didn’t say anything. He just shuffled closer for a hug, and let himself be okay.

Everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t going to be normal, or easy, or long.

But they were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH! YOU GUYS THOUGHT THERE WASN’T GOING TO BE A HAPPY ENDING TO THIS CHAPTER? YOU FOOLS!!!!
> 
> additionally: you’re all required to check out the INCREDBILE art that was made for chapter 10 https://bit.ly/2SzH3Wj -- everyone thank (and check out more art by) auroblaze on tumblr!


	12. Prized Possessions, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made this chapter as fluffy as possible, because it’s what you guys deserve for waiting around this long <3
> 
> AND i hope you’re all safe in this ridiculous time. you should all practicing social distancing if possible, as you work from home or find things to do during quarantine. if you’re an essential worker, i cannot thank you enough for the important work you’re doing, and i hope you’re staying as safe as you can!! we’ll get through this together, i am giving you an encouraging thumbs up!!! <333

Once they cleaned up the mess of cards, Yugi dug up everything hidden away in his dresser so the two of them could make their house a home again. The fridge was dressed up with their games and lists, simple sketches and fully realized pieces of art alike got thrown up on the walls wherever they could fit. It was a whirlwind of an hour, full of laughter and excited chatter and an equal amount of silence. Of just _being_ together.

As the night grew long, Yugi’s eyes grew heavy from the emotional rollercoaster he’d been riding for the better part of a week. The lack of sleep wasn’t far behind, his arms hanging heavier with every new pin he stuck in the wall. His higher functions told him it was time to rest, but every time he caught Atem out of the corner of his eye, felt a hand bush his lower back, or heard a suggestion for where to put the next decoration, he found himself really _not_ wanting to go to sleep yet. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

Then he blinked. When he opened his eyes, he was being shaken awake.

“Yugi,” Atem whispered, jostling his shoulder. “Dove.”

 “Wassat?” he slurred, a little dizzy. He blinked down at himself, leaning against a wall with a soon-to-be-hung drawing in his hand. It even had a pin in it. “What time issit?”

“I believe it is time for bed.”

Atem plucked the drawing from his hand and discarded it on the table, then took both his hands and dragged him down the hall. Yugi went without a fight, but shook his head all the same.

“Don’t want to,” he insisted.

“You told me yourself, you have not been sleeping well.”

Yugi didn’t have an argument. Although, it would have been hard to argue _anything_ around the gigantic yawn that escaped him.

Getting to bed was another hazy blur of time, and it could have been seconds or minutes later that Yugi found himself crawling under the sheets, held aloft by a ghostly hand. Once Yugi was sufficiently covered, Atem let them fall.

“Rest well,” he said, and floated back.

Through the fog of exhaustion, anxiety clawed at Yugi’s chest. He sat up. “Wait.”

Atem was back at his side instantly. He said nothing, but the question of concern was as present as words.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Yugi felt silly for asking at all. What had the entire night been for, if not to prove that they were going to be as stuck to each other as possible?

Despite this, Atem took the redundant question with the utmost sincerity, wrapping Yugi in an embrace he wished could be tighter.

“I will be here tomorrow,” he said. “On my life.”

“You’re dead.”

“On your life, then.”

Yugi was too tired to give the comment the laugh It deserved. He just smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course, dove.”

Atem pulled away and Yugi flopped back onto his pillow. Sleep came within seconds, deep and gray and dreamless. A welcome reprieve from that night, that week, and everything that came along with it. No worries, no stress, no _thoughts_ of any kind. Just pure, uninterrupted rest.

And the next morning, Yugi was _rested_ , for the first time in what felt like forever. As wakefulness crept in, rousing his dulled senses and lighting up his brain, he refused to open his eyes so he could savor the feeling. He wanted to go _back_ to sleep, just to wake up rested a second time.

He never got the chance for a do-over. A repetitive motion up and down one side of his face kept him present in the world, until his nerves were alert enough to scrunch his nose reflexively. One eye creaked open, and soon he opened both to better absorb the state of his wake-up call.

Floating with not even an inch between them, Atem had spread himself out like he belonged there. One elbow propped up on nothing, he looked down at Yugi with nothing short of adoration. His other hand was brushing Yugi’s cheek, from the bottom of his chin, up to curl his bangs behind one ear, and down again. He grinned wide as Yugi blinked his eyes open.

“At last,” he crooned, “my not-so-early bird.”

 Yugi rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He shook his head and yawned, with a few tired groans added for dramatic effect.

“Ah, my dove can sing.” Atem closed what little distance remained to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Beautiful.”

Yugi stuck his chin out in a silent request for a _real_ kiss, which he received. The sensation was still odd, and he wasn’t sure it would ever be anything _less_ than odd. But he was more than willing to get used to it all the same.

They broke apart when Yugi pushed himself upright, leaning against the wall behind him. Atem took the opportunity to curl up in his lap, tucking his head in the space between Yugi’s neck and shoulder. He had never owned a cat before, but he guessed it would be a lot like this.

“Why do you call me that?” he asked.

“Dove?”

“Yeah. It feels too specific to be something you pulled out of thin air.”

Atem gently tugged Yugi’s cast toward him, tracing the lines of the bird depicted there. “It is not happenstance, you are correct. Doves often symbolize peace, something I have been seeking for a very long while.” He tried his best to lace their fingers together, around the cast and his own incorporeal nature. “Something that _you_ have given me. What better to call you, hm?”

Yugi’s heart jumped in his chest. “That’s really sweet.”

“I think so as well.”

“It’s a lot more thought out than I was expecting, to be honest.”

“Oh?”

“You’re corny, so I figured the reason would be that we’re both pretty, or something gross like that.”

Atem scoffed in mock offense. “Corny. Unbelievable.”

“You _are_.”

“Please. I have not said a single word to you that was exaggerated.”

“That’s _why_ you’re corny.”

“If you like,” Atem said, facing Yugi more directly and hooking his arms around his neck, “I can be _far_ worse.”

Yugi’s stomach interrupted them to gurgle as a hollow reminder that he had completely forgotten to eat the previous night. In his defense, it had been a very busy evening.

“Let me up,” Yugi said, shuffling out from under his blankets. “I have to eat something.”

Atem didn’t move. “Go right ahead.”

“You’re still on me.”

“And I weigh nothing.”

Too hungry to argue, and privately enjoying this too much to give it up _just_ yet, Yugi stood up with Atem still hanging around his neck. He half expected to pass right through, but Atem rose along at the same pace, so there was never any resistance for his fragile form to try in vain to combat. He lifted himself around Yugi’s shoulder and draped himself over his back instead.

“Is this you being ‘far worse?’” Yugi asked.

“Not even close, dearest,” Atem mumbled. If he didn’t know any better, Yugi might have thought he was falling asleep.

Yugi went about his morning with his weightless passenger, opening the windows, starting a pot of coffee, and getting a decent breakfast together. Throughout it all, they hardly spoke. The only indication that Atem was even in the room was the necklace of cold around his neck, and a matching cape of it down his back. He avoided making sharp movements, careful to keep the incorporeal body intact, but even when he slipped up, it was clear Atem was just as aware. He shifted his position to match Yugi’s movement, and then snuck right back. It was as if they’d been practicing, instead of a random choice. An unspoken need to be close.

Yugi almost wanted to eat breakfast standing up to preserve it, but he only had two hands, and holding a plate, a mug of coffee, and using chopsticks would be an incredible feat. When he nudged a chair out from the table, Atem got the hint that he needed to move or get sat through. The comforting chill lifted from Yugi’s neck and shoulders. He held back the urge to pout with the knowledge that he could just ask for it whenever he wanted, now. No more games, no more contrivances. Finally.

 Atem floated around to hover above the table, snatching his sketchbook on the way and tossing a pen casually. Now visible from the front – and the neck down – the hole in his chest was clear. The opening had already shrunk down since the last time he’d seen it, from fist sized to golf ball sized. Yugi couldn’t help but stare at it, and wonder how bad it had been fresh.

“How are you feeling?” Yugi asked.

“How am I—?” Atem started, almost laughing, then followed Yugi’s gaze to his chest. His expression fell. “Ah, that. I am better. It will not be long before it is fully healed now.”

“Does it hurt?”

He traced the outline and winced. “It is a fundamental incompleteness. In a sense, it is painful. To be less than whole.”

Face up on the table, Yugi’s palm itched. He clenched it into a fist, eating his breakfast and ignoring it as best he could.

But Atem noticed, expression hardening in firm concern. “Hazim told me he spoke with you.”

In truth, Yugi had nearly forgotten about his conversation with the less-friendly ghost downstairs. “He didn’t hurt me. But he told me about sacrifices, and how to break your curse.”

“Would you ask anything of me?”

That wasn’t a question to ask for confirmation of the truth. At least, not the presumed truth.

“I trust you,” Yugi said, answering the implied question. “And if you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.”

Atem sagged in relief. “Good.”

“Did you _really_ think last night would have even happened if I didn’t trust you?”

“Absolutely not, but it is nice to hear regardless.”

Yugi smiled and went back to his food. Because that conversation was done. There wasn’t anything else to ask, he didn’t have any questions or anything to confirm.

Except for one thing.

“Is that _really_ the only way?” he asked.

Atem sighed in resignation. “The only other way would be for things to resolve themselves naturally. Frankly I do not have hopes for that outcome.”

“Or if he kills you.”

“Or that.” He furrowed his brow, frustrated. “I would say that is also unlikely, but he was stronger than I anticipated. Stronger than he _should be_.”

Fear welled up in Yugi. “How? Why?”

“I do not know. He must be drawing power from elsewhere. Through what means, I could not say.”

Yugi’s mind raced in circles. Had they been missing something obvious? Was there some other kind of magic attached to the journal? Did Hazim lie, and somehow make Yugi a partial sacrifice without him knowing it? Was it Ryou? What else could offer him power? _Who_ else? Fukuyama didn’t visit often enough to—

His nerves shot straight up.

Fukuyama’s bloody arm. But he couldn’t know about Hazim. He couldn’t know about Atem! _Could he_?

“What?” Atem pressed, leaning forward urgently. “What is it, Yugi, is something wrong?”

He swallowed, buzzing with anxiety. “The last time I saw Fukuyama, he had a bandage on his arm, it was bloody, and pretty new. He said it was a kitchen accident, but he was acting really strange.”

From the dread on his face, it was clear Atem had come to the same conclusion. “I was unaware he knew about us.”

“He might not. Maybe he was just weird that day, but…”

“It is awfully convenient.”

They locked eyes with matching unease.

“What can we do?” Yugi asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

“There is nothing we _can_ do,” Atem said, confirming his suspicions. “Unless we catch them in the act and interrupt the ritual. But—” he cut himself off and frowned at the table, confused. “I would have noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

Atem picked up Yugi’s left hand, pointing out the scar. “The sacrifice you performed for me was small in comparison to the ones Hazim must be receiving, and even so, it undoubtedly alerted spirits for miles. Sacrifices shift the balance of life and death, and any being walking on the tightrope between those states would be aware of such a dramatic change. So if Hazim and Fukuyama _are_ performing a similar ritual—"

“Then you should know about it.”

He put Yugi’s hand down. “Precisely.”

“Is there a way you can track them somehow?”

“Even if I could, I cannot leave the house without the crown. And that would be rather suspicious.”

Yugi’s brain conjured an image of the crown floating conspicuously in the air, sneaking after Fukuyama. It was almost funny. “There’s really nothing we can do?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

It would be hard to catch Fukuyama unawares, or catch him at _all_. If he’d been this absent because of regular sacrificial offerings, he might become even more distant now that Yugi knew a little more than he should. That one interaction might have made a difficult task impossible.

No. _No_. He couldn’t think like that – couldn’t _afford_ to. Every minute he hesitated was another chance Hazim had to take advantage of his newfound power, and maybe even get stronger. One step closer to breaking the curse _his_ way.

“I really hope we’re wrong about this,” he muttered.

“As do I,” Atem agreed.

Words wouldn’t come, so Yugi said nothing. He ate his breakfast in silence. Atem flipped open his sketchbook, but spent more time staring at the page than he did draw anything. The jumbled half-revelations pushed the gears in Yugi’s brain, trying to think of a solution to a puzzle with at least a dozen missing pieces. It just couldn’t be done. He needed more to work with.

Catching Fukuyama would give him a significant amount of information, either confirming or ruling out the sacrifice option. It was the only idea he had, outside of breaking into the first floor again to interrogate Hazim. Because that turned out _so_ well last time.

No, Fukuyama was the best choice. He was sneaky, but he was also a nervous wreck, if his jumpy disposition the other day had said anything. He knew he was doing something wrong, and he knew that it needed to stay hidden. He only showed up when Yugi wasn’t around, he avoided any and all conversation, and he left as quickly as he showed up. He was doing his best to be slippery, and it had worked, up to now.

Now, Yugi had to get creative.

How often was he out of the house? How long did it take him to get _home_? Fukuyama _must_ have known about his comings and goings to so intricately avoid him at all costs. He needed to strategize – come up with a game plan. How much did surveillance cameras go for these days?

“I know.”

Yugi snapped out of his scheming. Atem was watching him with a lopsided smile.

“You know what?” Yugi asked.

“I know it is hard,” he answered, “to sit and not have answers.”

Yugi put his chin in his hand and sighed. “I just want everyone to stop fighting,”

“And that is _courageous_. And honorable, and brave. But you cannot do it alone, dove. Especially when there is nothing to be done.”

As much as he wanted to refute it, Yugi knew that no matter how hard he sat and racked his brain, it would all be for nothing. Fukuyama was playing a cat-and-mouse game. The only way to win those was to be patient, and wait for the mouse to walk into the trap of its own volition. He’d missed one opportunity – the only thing that was left to do was try again.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “As always.”

“I am not _always_ right,” Atem corrected. “I am only _mostly_ right.”

“Ha-ha. Hilarious.”

“As always.”

Yugi made a face, and stood up with his used dishes in his hands. “Cute.”

“As al—”

“Stop!” He marched away to the kitchen.

“Not when you make it so _easy_ , my dove.”

Yugi decided he wasn’t going to respond to that, in case he left another opportunity for a terrible joke wide open. He put his dishes in the sink and noted the remarkable _lack_ of the ones that had been there when he went to bed last night. He hadn’t wanted to do them in the middle of the decorating session. But now it appeared he didn’t have to at all.

And there was only one explanation for _that_.

“Did you do the dishes?” he called.

It took seconds for Atem to whisk himself into the room. “I have an extra eight hours or so. And you slept late this morning.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

Yugi was starting to think the bird nickname he’d been given wasn’t so inaccurate – his heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “Thank you.”

Atem sailed through the air and took him by the hands. “Anything to see you smile that way.”

_Smile_? Yugi thought. His brain clicked with his muscles, and yes, he _was_ smiling. Still, he asked, “What way?”

“The way that makes me wonder how anyone could ever be so beautiful.”

“Corny.”

“And true.”

All of this felt like some insanely vivid dream – a dream Yugi would happily like to remain asleep for.

“We’re going to do something today,” he declared.

“Are we?”

“Yes. Starting now.” Letting his hands slip free, Yugi strode across the room and beckoned Atem to follow. “I have to go to the store anyway, and you’re coming with me.”

Atem followed, lagging behind as he paraded down the hall. “I am not sure I will be much help.”

“Who said I needed help?” Yugi threw open his bedroom door and gathered everything he’d need to go out in public – starting with clothes. “I’m making up for last week.”

He picked a shirt out from the closet, but Atem was suddenly at his side, pushing his arm and the shirt back where he’d just gotten it from. “You have already made up for anything you might have done,” he said. “Many, many times over.”

Yugi dropped his arm, but he didn’t let the shirt go. “I said we’d go somewhere, and we didn’t. I’m holding myself to that promise.”

“Hold yourself to nothing, dove. You do not have to.”

“I _want_ to.” He tossed the shirt onto the bed, a solid affirmation of his stance. “I want to do things with you, not just at home. Let’s just have fun, okay?”

Atem searched his face, but there was nothing for him to see. Yugi _wasn’t_ pressured by past decisions. He wanted this, and had wanted it for a while.

At last, finding nothing, Atem shook his head fondly. “How am I to argue with that?”

Newly emboldened, Yugi kissed him in thanks and doubled his speed in getting ready. It was chaste and light, but Atem melted all the same.

“Or that,” he added, shoulders slumping to let out a non-existent exhale.

The giddy feeling from the previous night – the knowledge that this was _real and happening_ – had come back to Yugi tenfold. His whole body was fit to bursting with energy and he had no idea how to expend it all. For the moment, he directed it toward getting himself put together, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He wasn’t sure if _anything_ would be enough.

Almost as an afterthought, he took the crown down from its shelf – careful not to upset the framed picture, upright once more – and bounced on his palms. He had to take it for Atem to come at all, there was no getting around that. The only question was how.

Atem peered over his shoulder. “You can carry it in one of your bags,” he offered, as if reading his thoughts. “You are shopping anyway, are you not?”

Yugi nodded and hummed an affirmative, but something about it felt wrong. Even if no one else knew about it, this was a celebration for them – that a _them_ existed at all. Didn’t he want to show that off, at least a little? No one else would know what it meant, but _they_ would. That’s what mattered.

“I have a better idea,” he said.

He turned around and took a step back, making sure Atem could see him push the crown onto his head. It sat heavy on his brow, wrapping around his temples and tucking behind his ears. He brushed his bangs away from the wings jutting out from the sides, trying to have them from getting too tangled up.

“How do I look?” he asked, turning from side to side.

Atem was frozen where he hung in the air, except for a widening smile. “Like a king.”

Yugi absolutely couldn’t help it anymore. He twirled.

“Okay, okay, let’s go!” he sang, and went through the motions of dragging Atem out the door with him. He didn’t even grab on, but he didn’t even have to try. Atem went through the motions of being dragged along anyway.

 

 

They came up with a plan on the drive.

Atem couldn’t be seen in public. That much was obvious, so being invisible was a must-have. That didn’t bother either of them – Yugi could just as easily communicate with Atem without being able to see him, and Atem was perfectly fine being invisible. The problem came with the “communication,” aspect.

A disembodied voice would be just as suspicious as a transparent body flying around, and Yugi would already be drawing enough attention with the flashy gold wings jutting out from his forehead. Atem couldn’t write on anything – floating objects were also an obvious no – and their long-unused gesture shorthand only worked one-way. Besides, it was too limited to carry out a full conversation. They had to come up with something else. Something subtle enough to go unnoticed by the general public, and still easily accessible for both of them.

They brainstormed back and forth, both on the way and parked in the driveway at the store when none of their ideas bore fruit. Yugi’s _one_ halfway decent idea wasn’t perfect. Atem was skeptical, but didn’t have anything else in mind.

So, as Yugi pushed his grocery cart down the aisles, a lingering cold weight around his shoulders, he left his phone on top of the reusable grocery bags folded up in the top basket. The only time he moved it was to pick it up and type. When he set it back down, that cold weight would leave, only for a moment. If any stranger were to look closer, they’d notice the letters on the keyboard typing into the notes app without a single finger touching them at all.

An invisible hand squeezed Yugi’s shoulder as he inspected the produce. He nodded, and it curled around his upper body again. As much as he enjoyed in that morning, having Atem hanging off him all the time in _public_ was a little strange. Even though he was the only one who was aware, it didn’t make him any less anxious about such blatant PDA. Actually, it was worse that no one else knew, because he couldn’t react to any of it without looking like a maniac.

Was he going to tell Atem to stop? No. But it was the principle of the matter.

After plucking a pair of bell peppers from their brethren and placing them in the cart, he picked up his phone and read Atem’s latest message:

_This is infuriating. >:(_

He snorted, openly. He wouldn’t look crazy if he reacted to _these_.

_It’s not my fault you type slower than my mom,_ he replied, fingers flying fast across the keyboard just to prove a point. He returned the phone to the basket, and wheeled the cart to his next destination.

Atem’s invisible weight shifted as he leaned over to read the new message. A barely perceptible huff escaped him. Yugi bit his tongue to keep from smiling too much.

He parked the cart in front of a wall of canned vegetables. He had no intention in buying any, pretending to peruse the shelves and watching his phone in his peripheral. Atem typed a message. One key at a time. Slowly. _Agonizingly_.

Yugi sauntered back and forth in front of the food for bit, realized he _did_ need something farther down the aisle, and came back to find Atem still typing. Pecking at the keys. On the bright side, there was a good chance that anyone who looked over wouldn’t notice. Between his long pauses and the angle of the screen, it would have been a challenge to see _anything_ suspicious going on.

 He stretched his hands dramatically as he wrapped them around the handle of the cart – a warning of the movement to come. Atem nudged him to signal he was hanging on, and off they went.

It wasn’t until halfway down the next aisle that Yugi got to read and respond to the long-awaited message.

_It is not my fault_, it read, _that I am unused to your strange new technologies._

He replied, _Keep up with the times, old man_ _♡_  and continued on, perhaps a little too proud of himself. He left Atem to read while he scoured the shelves for the specific brand of noodles he liked, because buying anything else felt wrong.

Unable to find them in their usual spot, he nearly resigned himself to a noodle-less week, when he took a glance at the top shelf. A decent row of his brand of choice sat undisturbed, waiting to be picked up and dropped into someone’s basket. Someone _taller_ than Yugi, because he couldn’t reach by a long shot. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

Standing on the very tips of his toes, he stretched up as far as his stature would let him. He strained against gravity, and against his own bones and muscles, reaching his fingers as long as he could. They brushed the very edge the shelf. He tried to stand higher his toes, and grew a new respect for Anzu and the rest of her dancer friends. Yugi bored his eyes into the noodles, willing them to somehow fall into his arms.

The package wobbled on the shelf, just short of natural. The very ends of Yugi’s fingers were greeted with a chill. He smiled gratefully as it wobbled again—

“Excuse me?”

Yugi turned his neck awkwardly. A middle-aged man stood behind him, smiling sympathetically.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“No thanks,” Yugi assured him. “I’ve almost—”

The noodles fell over, tipping forward just enough for him to snatch off the shelf. He turned back to the man and held the package aloft. “Got it.”

The man nodded, impressed. “Alright, take care.”

“You too. Thanks.”

And if the man noticed Yugi look slightly to the left as he doled out his gratitude, where a patch of cold air had attached itself to his arm, he said nothing about it. They went their separate ways.

Yugi dropped the noodles among his other items and checked his phone for any new messages. And indeed, he had one.

_I have had little reason_ , Atem had written, _to “keep up” until now._

_Video games_ , Yugi pointed out, controlling the cart with his elbows as he tapped away. _TV. Way too many photo filters_.

Learning that Atem was just existent enough that apps could pick up his face wasn’t _quite_ a mistake. It had been fun for the first seven hours or so, and by that point, Yugi had surrendered his phone to let Atem do as he wished. He just had to pray no one went through his phone any time soon. Or ever.

The next response came quickly: _Fewer buttons, if any._

Yugi put another item into the basket and rolled his eyes. _Just admit you’re too proud to possess my phone or whatever._

  It took several trips down several aisles for Atem to type up his response, with breaks to help Yugi grab things off high shelves and pausing for the movement of the basket. Yugi didn’t mind the wait, though. Getting to talk to Atem at all made this trip a million times more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been. Doing anything mundane, he imagined, would be a million times more enjoyable if Atem was there, too. They’d already cured the boredom of sweeping the house and cleaning the kitchen together. The possibilities were endless. Endless, and now with greater potential.

Atem finally gave the signal that his message was ready. Yugi wasted no time.

_Believe me_ , it read, _if that were an option, I would have taken it. Though, I could always possess you_.

He froze.

It was a joke. Yugi knew it was a joke, and that Atem would never do that. But an uncomfortable memory wormed its way back into his mind in spite of these truths. Nerves shot up his spine and gave him unpleasant shivers through his body.

_Please don’t_ , was his only response.

He wasn’t aware of any outward displays of discomfort, but it was clear he’d set off some kind of alarm bell. The phone wasn’t even out of his hands before a worried hand brushed across his cheek. Yugi didn’t need to hear – or read – the words _Are you alright_? to know that’s what was being asked. He typed an additional message.

_My last experience with being possessed wasn’t great,_ he explained. _I know you wouldn’t, but it_

He didn’t get to finish typing. Reaching past his neck, Atem’s invisible fingers muscled his thumbs out of the way. Yugi kept his hands propping up the phone and watched Atem spring up a new message blisteringly fast compared to his normal speed.

_If I had known it bothered you, I would have said nothing. I am sorry._

Yugi wouldn’t have let him finish either, if he could see the hands typing. Instead, when Atem pulled away, he tapped up a rapid-fire response.

_Don’t worry, I  know you didn’t mean anything by it. You couldn’t have known. It’s okay <3_

Instead of putting his phone down, he just moved his thumbs again. They were replaced by invisible ones in less than a second. Atem typed something much shorter, but nonetheless impactful.

_I love you dearly._

Yugi was so glad he could react to his phone without looking suspicious, because if he _hadn’t_ been able to smile like an idiot, he would have quite literally exploded.

He replied, _I love you too (•ө•)_ _♡_ _,_ then looked up, and remembered he was supposed to be shopping. He put his phone back down where it belonged and scurried off with his basket. He thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t gotten in anyone’s way.

In any case, he was glad to have his mind off the way that conversation had been going. Though he wouldn’t say he _wasn’t_ a little curious about why possessing his phone wasn’t an option, discussing it within the context of his _own_ body raised red flags like nobody’s business. Even meaninglessly, the thought of being taken over like that again, staring out his own eyes but not being able to really _see_ out of them, horrified him. Repeating the experience wasn’t something he wanted to entertain. Ever.

Atem nudged his shoulder, and provided another welcome distraction as he looked for an open checkout line.

_What is that? _the new message read. Yugi raised a brow in question, and the invisible hands typed up an addition. _That odd icon in your previous message._

Oh. Well he’d thought that was obvious. Yugi parked his cart behind someone in the shortest line available, and used his time waiting to explain away Atem’s confusion.

_It’s a bird!_ He typed the emoticon again. _See the beak?_

_Hardly._

_♩_ _є(_ _･_ _Θ_ _･｡_ _)э Look now it’s singing!_

_Technology…_

The playfully dismissive tone was almost audible through the screen.

_What?_ Yugi challenged. _I thought you liked emoticons_.

_I like them well enough,_ Atem conceded, _but I already have a bird. _

Yugi fought a full-body shiver as cold, invisible arms locked tight around his waist. Really, it was just unfair.

_Now you can have two birds_ , he said. _Me and this little guy (•ө•)_

Unseen fingers drummed on the sides of Yugi’s torso, contemplative. He pushed his cart up to the now-open spot in line, and handed his bags to the cashier. He made sure his phone stayed out and open for a response while he fished all his groceries out of his basket and onto the counter. It was difficult to move as if there _wasn’t_ a second person hanging off his back like a koala, but he managed.

Atem slipped off him so gradually, he didn’t notice until he was gathering his bags and wheeling the cart outside. A nudge caught his arm, and Yugi picked up his phone eagerly.

_I suppose_ , the newest message read, _two is manageable._

Yugi found himself wearing a big stupid grin a lot more often these days.

He didn’t respond to the message, though. He slipped his phone into his pocket and piled his grocery bags into his car, and piled himself into the driver’s seat. In the motion of buckling his seatbelt, he caught his own eye in the rearview mirror. The crown glittered in the light and he startled himself with the reminder. He’d honestly forgotten it was there. The weight was negligible, after getting used to it. It felt so _natural_ to wear.

“Something on your mind?” Atem asked. No ghostly form appeared, but they could safely talk in the semi-private space of the car.

“Not really,” Yugi said. “I might have been wrong about this thing the first time though.”

“How so?”

“Maybe it is my style after all.”

He started the car and the engine came to life at the same time Atem’s laughter brought a life of its own.

“I am glad you changed your mind,” he said.

“Me too.”

Yugi backed out of his parking spot and took off down the road. But not in the direction of home. He had something else planned. It was a last-minute idea, but he was sure it was going to be the best, and it would be even better as a surprise.

“Dove,” Atem said, his voice noticeably hesitant, “may I speak to you about something?”

Something flickered in the corner of Yugi’s eye, and he glanced over to see Atem hovering in the passenger’s seat.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Possession.”

Somehow, he hadn’t seen that coming. “W-why?”

“If you do not wish it, I will not say another word,” Atem insisted, and Yugi believed him, “but I think you deserve to know what happened to you.”

Yugi gripped the steering wheel and took a slow breath. He didn’t _want_ to think about what happened to him. It happened long enough ago that he just buried it as deep and far as he could, treating it like one of the many weird things that happened to him since learning about the ghosts in his apartment.

But he didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how he still had his mind when Hazim controlled his body. He didn’t understand how he _lost_ himself to Hazim at all – one minute he was in control, the next he was watching. He didn’t understand why he saw that horrible vision, and he didn’t understand why the bruises appeared – even though they were long-healed now. He didn’t understand any of it, and he didn’t understand how to keep it from happening again.

He was almost positive he had seen Ryou and Fukuyama both nearly succumb to that same fate. He’d only come across them by accident to snap them out of it. And he knew at any moment he could be next – and no one else would be around to give him a lucky get-away.

“Yugi?”

Atem was staring, eyes wide and concerned, with a sliver of guilt. Yugi took a long, ragged breath.

“Tell me,” he said, only half-sure of his decision-making skills. “I think I deserve to know, too.”

“Are you positive?”

Yugi shook his head. “Ha. No way. But it’s not like I’m going to get any more okay with it by ignoring it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light and faced Atem for real. “Tell me. I can tell you to stop if I need to.”

“Right.”

The light turned green as the car fell silent. Yugi pushed on, while Atem made a hesitant start.

“You mentioned,” he said, “possessing your phone.”

“I was kidding. Mostly.”

He laughed, shortly. “Well, it is as good place to begin as any. The reason why I cannot is that a soul must have a place to house itself. If something does not contain that space, there is no opening, in a sense, for it to be possessed in the first place.”

“So, people’s bodies are soul-holders?”

“Exactly.”

Yugi frowned as he pondered this new and strange perception of his own body. “How can someone be possessed if they already have a soul, then?”

“It is not exactly a precise container – it cannot be truly filled as a cup would. There is just a _space_ , there, for a soul to exist. And possession is another soul pushing through to join it.”

Feeling more violated than even originally, Yugi focused on the road ahead of him. “How does it happen in the first place?” Atem didn’t answer, and Yugi could feel eyes searching him. “I’m okay.”

Only then did he continue. “You would not know it, but every soul has a resonance. It is unique to each individual, and you only know it exists when... well. When you die, and gain the ability to hear them.”

“All the time?”

“It is background noise. I can tune it out if I wish.”

Yugi almost wanted to ask what a soul _sounded_ like, but there were more important things on his mind. “Is it really important to possession?”

Atem nodded gravely. “Very. A would-be intruder can mimic the resonance of a soul, and bluff their way into trustworthiness. It is how they enter the body – the first step. Often the… host does not even notice. Many are stuck in a trance.”

He was right. Yugi _had_ saved Ryou. And Fukuyama too. He swallowed.

Atem noticed. “I can stop,” he said, a gentle reminder. “If it is too much too fast…”

Yugi shook his head. It wasn’t making him feel better, exactly. But it also wasn’t making him feel ignorantly worse. “You can keep going. What happens next?”

“Once inside,” Atem continued, though he didn’t look happy about it, “an intruder will layer its own soul on top of the original, so it retains full control of itself while still able to control the body. As well as the mind, in some cases”

“Why only in some cases?”

“it is a choice. Because of how the two souls are affixed to each other, they share the same experiences. You were aware the whole time, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And when you… saw.” He didn’t need to finish the thought for Yugi to know exactly what he meant. “It felt akin to a lived experience.”

It wasn’t a question, but Yugi nodded anyway.

“The intruder can impose memories, as you know. And they can choose to block the mind of their host. They will not remember anything that transpired while they were possessed. Or they can do nothing, and… let them watch.”

Yugi wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to the question he had, but he asked it anyway. “When I— _saw_. It was just a memory. Why did I actually get hurt from it?”

Atem looked like he didn’t want to _answer_ that question, but he did. “When you are dead, your memories are all you have. They are what makes you, and they influence everything – when I did not know what I looked like, I could not look _like_ anything. The stronger an attachment to a memory, the more impactful it is to a wandering spirit.

“When possessed, the line between life and death blurs slightly. With a powerful memory such as that, his form would have become just as battered through remembering it alone.”

“My body did what his would have.”

“In its own way, yes.”

“And in the hospital with you.”

“Yes. That as well.”

Yugi couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than it being intentional. Or if it even mattered. But now he had all his questions answered, at the very least. Everything in front of him.

Except one thing.

“Do you think he’d try again?” Yugi asked, feeling tight with the thought of it at all.

Atem looked halfway between despair and rage – not _at_ him, Yugi knew. At the world. At the past. He couldn’t deny feeling the same.

But it melted away, and he calmly answered, “I cannot say. But if he has not yet, I see no reason why he would suddenly start now. Or for what purpose.”

 “Right.” He took a shaky breath, expelling the unpleasant thoughts from his mind. He forced his muscles slack, a mockery of relaxation. “Thank you for explaining all this.”

“As I said, you deserved to know.”

The surprise destination came into view, and Yugi _genuinely_ relaxed. “And I say,” he declared, “we deserve a little time to ourselves.”

Up ahead, a decent square of grass floated in the middle of four unkempt city streets. An island of green among gray and blue, an even _tinier_ island of mulch and brightly colored playground sets floated inside it. It was seemingly empty, despite the afternoon sun and the freedom of the weekend. Just how Yugi had expected it to look: blissfully vacant.

“What is this?” Atem asked, peering out the window with joyful curiosity.

“The area I grew up in,” he replied. “My mom used to take me to this park all the time when I was a kid. It’s pretty much abandoned now, because upkeep hasn’t been—” the car jostled wildly as he drove over half a dozen potholes. “It’s not the best area anymore,” he finished.

“You planned this?”

“I don’t want to say _planned_ , but I thought it would be nice to get out of the house and _actually_ get to hang out.” He pulled up to the curb and parked. “Instead of, you know, me pretending you don’t exist.”

“Agreed.”

Yugi scanned the area through the window. “But I think you should still be invisible for bit. At least until we figure out if someone else is here.”

Atem pouted like he’d rather do _anything_ else, but obediently popped out of existence. Yugi patted the hand that appeared on his shoulder.

“It’s just for a bit,” he promised.

To ensure that promise was kept, he hopped out of the car and onto dry grass. He took a few minutes to casually stroll, with his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans – as deep as his right hand _could_ go, anyway. He almost regretted not bringing a coat, as the autumn chill blew a gust of wind right into his face. But then again, if he _had_ brought a coat, he wouldn’t have been able to feel the cold weight around his shoulders.

No coat? Worth it.

As his walk continued, it solidified his initial thoughts: no one else was around. Long gone were the packs of squealing children he remembered from his early years. Instead, there was only faded paint on the metal swing set, a jungle gym that had sunk into the ground on one side, and sagging plastic slides. Deader than a graveyard. _Perfect._

“I don’t see anybody,” he said, for once not worried about being heard. “I think it’s safe.”

The cold arms around his neck appeared as Atem melted back into the world. “Finally,” he sighed, tucking his head in the crook of Yugi’s shoulder.

He rolled his eyes as he continued his circuit of the playground. “It was a whole four minutes.”

“Four minutes too long, in my opinion. Not even visible.”

“Is there really that much of a difference?”

“I feel much more like a person in this form. For obvious reasons.”

“What does it feel like when you’re _not_?”

Atem picked up his head to think. “Imagine… your entire body is made of liquid.”

Yugi made a face. “Ew.”

“Not _liquidized_ – just existing in a fluid form.”

“You have no idea how impossible it is for me to imagine that.”

“Maybe you are not trying hard enough.”

“I don’t think I _want_ to try hard enough.”

Atem laughed and swirled around to float in front of Yugi instead, his fingers how laced behind his neck. “No matter, dove. I prefer this much more.”

Yugi’s brain stalled, along with his feet. He slowed to a halt and soaked in the smile on Atem’s face, the look in his eyes. So kind, and earnest, and full of _warmth_.

He definitely didn’t need a coat.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Me too.”

The kiss that followed just sort of… happened. Yugi didn’t even realize he’d moved until he was already there.

When the broke apart (eventually), Atem returned to his original spot, and Yugi continued leading them in a circle around the empty park. Of all the places he would have wanted to spend his weekend, this wouldn’t have even made this list last month – last _week_. But now, it was hard to imagine somewhere else he’d rather be. Walking around with a ghost hanging off his back.

They made good on their intentions to talk, too, about less serious things than being possessed. Instead, they talked about things only made entertaining by the person you spoke with. What to make for dinner that night, the rapidly advancing cold weather, or a new movie slated to premiere soon. They even made passing comments on the clouds, or a funny shaped stick here and there.

Eventually, the topic of work got brought up, and Yugi figured he should drop the bombshell sooner rather than later.

“Since I’m going to be a director now,” he explained, “I’m probably going to be working later than usual. Probably a lot later.”

Atem made a disgruntled noise. “As long as you do come home _eventually_.”

“I’m not going to live at the studio, promise. Just practice being patient.”

“I _can_ go with you, if you remember.” He tapped the side of Yugi’s head, where the crown still sat.

“I’ve already told you why I’m never going to do that.”

“Refresh my memory, then.”

Yugi made a list on his fingers. “You get bored too fast, I will have no hope of reigning you in, and you’ll probably draw all over the walls or something.”

Atem scoffed. “I have absolutely _no_ idea what you might be talking about.”

“You are _not_ suited for an office, even a fun office. You would cause so much trouble.”

“Perish the thought, darling.” He pressed a featherlight kiss to Yugi’s cheek, but he wasn’t about to fall for that.

“Now I gave you the idea, so there’s no _way_ I’m bringing you with me anymore.”

“Killjoy.”

“Poltergeist.”

“Wet blanket.”

“Firebrand.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

He shrugged, smiling innocently. “Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.”

“Hmm.” Atem slipped his arms from Yugi’s neck to slide them forward on either side of his waist. “Do you perhaps _enjoy_ my antics, sweet dove?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you might.”

“It’s not like you can prove it.”

“Oh? Am I hearing a challenge?”

Yugi pressed a hand to his chest, aghast. “Me? Challenge _you_? Perish the thought.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Maybe I am,” he repeated, swinging his head from side to side. “Maybe I’m not.”

“Playing so coy, my dear. Something to hide?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Is that so?” Atem drew his arms tighter. “And what in way might I _find out_?”

Yugi was about to say they might have to go _home_ if they wanted to finish the rest of this conversation, but something tugged on his arm urgently. He looked down and froze.

There was a little girl at his feet, no older than six. She was nearly swallowed by a puffy coat, clutching a stuffed bear in her arms. She was staring wide-eyed up at him…

And at Atem.

“Excuse me,” she said, awed. “Are you a ghost?”

The exact situation Yugi had wanted to avoid had happened. And he had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Uh,” he said, words jamming in his throat. “It’s—”

What would have been a very poor excuse got steamrolled over as Atem lit up with a bright smile. He swept down to meet the little girl at her level.

“Why yes, I am!” he praised, floating with his legs crossed. “You must be very wise to have figured that out on your own.”

The girl squeezed her bear and stomped her feet in excitement. She didn’t say anything, but the joyful smile on her face spoke louder than any words. Yugi looked around for any watching parents that might be in the area, not really sure what he was supposed to do here. _Should we leave?_ he wondered. _We shouldn’t. But should we_?

“My name is Atem,” he continued, putting a polite hand to his chest, and bowing his head. “Might I ask for yours?”

“Moriko.”

“You have a lovely name. You should be _very_ proud of it.”

She nodded like it was the best advice she’d ever been given. She stuck out her bear next. “This is Kuma.” Atem bowed to the bear, too.

Yugi no longer knew what reality was, trying to keep tabs on the conversation _and_ watch for spectators. He was stuck somewhere between thinking _This is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen_ and _God, I hope nobody else is watching this_.

“Did you name Kuma yourself?” Atem asked.

“Yes!” Moriko said, hugging the bear to her chest again. “He’s my best friend.”

“He is very lucky to have you.”

“Who’s your best friend?”

Atem pointed up at Yugi. “Right there. His name is Yugi.”

Yugi waved and hoped his smile didn’t look manic. “Hello.”

Moriko waved back at him, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Atem. “If you’re a ghost, that means you’re dead.”

“Indeed, it does,” he answered, remarkably nonchalant.

“Why?”

“Why am I dead?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

Yugi made an involuntary squeak in the back of his throat, planning an interruption, but Atem put up a hand to stop him. He looked at Moriko very seriously.

“A very bad man decided I should not be alive,” he explained, without a hint of tension. “He was very cross with me for his own reasons.”

Moriko scrunched up her tiny face in anger. “That’s not fair.”

Atem shook his head gravely. “No, it was not, but it happened a long time ago. There is nothing anybody can do about it. I must simply accept that I am dead.”

“But it’s like you’re back alive now!”

He blinked, as if this had never occurred to him before. A wide smile split his face. “I suppose I am, in a way.”

She smiled back at him, squeezing Kuma to her chest, delighted that her advice seemed to help. Yugi, at this point, had completely given up on taking this seriously. He plopped down on the ground next to Atem. Might as well, right?

“Nice of you to join us, dear,” Atem commented, barely glancing at him.

“Why let you two have all the fun?” he replied.

“And speaking of _fun_ …”

He “reached” into one of his ghostly sleeves, which Yugi furrowed his brows at. Atem’s clothes might as well have been a part of his body. They had no inside, and he couldn’t take them off. There was no _way_ he—

Yugi’s train of thought ground to a stupefied halt as Atem pulled his hand back out with a playing card between his fingers. Moriko gasped and Yugi was just as shocked.

“Would either of you like to play a game?” he asked, with a cryptic smile.

“How did you do that?” Moriko demanded.

“Yes,” Yugi agreed, flabbergasted. “How _did_ you do that?”

Atem winked and pressed a finger over his lips. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

For the next few minutes, he treated them to an impromptu magic show, somehow having brought along an entire deck of cards – _real_ , solid playing cards – without Yugi noticing or knowing how he did it. He kept pulling them out of thin air, the false folds in his clothes, behind the wings in his crown, impossibly concealing them until this very moment. Yugi had half a mind to think he planned this, somehow.

“And your card—” Atem announced, flipping over the card on top of the deck to end his latest trick, “—the two of diamonds, I presume?”

Moriko clapped her hands and cheered, as she did after all the other ones, now sitting on the ground with Kuma in her lap. Yugi was shot back to childhood himself, laughing disbelievingly at the card.

“No way,” he protested. “No _way_ , I watched you shuffle that!”

“Must I say it again, darling?”

“Yeah, yeah, magician secrets. But come _on_ , you have to tell me how you did that.”

“It’s _magic_ ,” Moriko said.

Atem nodded sagely. “She is correct. Magic.”

Yugi could no longer protest that magic wasn’t real – not that he ever would in front of a kid – now that he had several run-ins with ghosts and ended up _dating_ one, so he let it slide. “Alright, alright. Magic.”

“Do another?” Moriko asked, clasping her hands together.

The ghost was already shuffling the deck again, tossing cards into the air every so often. “How could I possibly refuse?”

She clapped her hands again, and Yugi clapped along with her.

“You _are_ going to tell me how you did these,” he insisted, “when we get home.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Moriko blinked her wide eyes between them. “Why do you live together? Are you a family? Do you sleep underground?”

Yugi and Atem glanced at each other warily. That was three rapid-fire questions, and only one had an answer they could comfortably give.

“We do not sleep underground,” Atem said, looking at Yugi with eyes that screamed _help me out with this_. “We… live in a house.”

“Is it a _big_ house?” she asked, growing more fascinated by the second.

“Not really,” Yugi said. “But it’s all we need.”

“To be a family?” she asked again.

He half smiled and tried to think of a satisfactory answer. “Kind of. We love each other, and that’s all family is. People who love each other.”

She looked at the ground and took this in, a small frown growing on her face. “Mommy and Daddy say a family is people who get married and then have babies.”

Yugi nodded slowly. “Sometimes, that’s what a family is. But sometimes people _can’t_ get married.”

“Or have children,” Atem added, a hollow note to his voice. Yugi paused at the sound, and it took a moment for him to remember he wanted to say something.

“Right,” he continued hastily. “Just because some people can’t do those things doesn’t mean they aren’t a family.”

Moriko considered this, patting Kuma methodically. “But—”

“Moriko!” called a woman’s voice. “It’s time to leave!”

She jumped up from the ground. “Coming, Mommy!” she called back. She waved at her two companions and scampered off.

Yugi and Atem waved back as she disappeared behind the playground. They looked at each other.

“Do you want to leave?” Yugi asked.

“I would like to stay a bit longer, if it is all the same to you.”

“Sure. Give me those cards, though, I don’t want to lose them.”

Atem raised an eyebrow. He clutched the deck in one fist and moved his wrist around in a quick circle. When he opened his hand, they were gone. “What cards?”

Yugi’s mouth dropped open. “How did you—”

“Magic.”

He got to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his pants. “You _are_ going to explain that to me.”

“Magic has no explanation.”

“Yeah, right.”

Atem looked like he was about to respond, but he glanced over Yugi’s shoulder and popped out of reality. Yugi turned around and saw Moriko coming back, dragging a woman by the hand excitedly.

“Over here, over here!” she chanted.

_Oh boy_. Yugi smiled politely at the woman as Moriko pulled her over. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” the woman said, delicately extracting her hand from Moriko’s grip. “Sorry, my daughter insisted I come over here and meet you and her new ‘ghost friend.’”

He laughed, not even having to force it. His life was just that hilarious. “It’s alright.”

“I know she can be a bit excitable, with an active imagination to boot, so if she was bothering you at all—”

Yugi waved her concerns out of the air. “Not at all. She’s a sweet kid.”

Moriko ran in a circle around his legs, looking all around in the air. “Where is he?”

Her mother sighed, fondly shaking her head. “Come on, Moriko, we have to go home now.”

“But what about Atem?”

“Let’s _go_ , sweetheart.” She took caught Moriko on her next lap, tugging her away by the hand. “Thanks for keeping her entertained.”

“No problem.”

As her mother dragged her away, Moriko shot a betrayed look back at him. Yugi turned his head just as Atem appeared to wave and press a finger to his lips. She brightened instantly, and put a finger over her own smile. Then, she turned back around, and skipped alongside her mother.

“That,” Yugi said, “was way too close.”

“Indeed.”

Atem was already disappearing, and Yugi was on the same page. “I’ll walk around some more.”

He took another silent lap of the park, but this time he had something more to think about than bystanders. The very beginnings of a thought, of a question, swam around in his brain, doing its own lap. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought of before, because it had never come up. And now that it had, it was all he could think about.

The coast was clear, he made sure of that, and gave Atem the okay to appear again. Then he made his way to the ancient swing set, and took a seat. The chains rattled as he rocked himself gently back and forth. Still thinking.

“Something on your mind, dove?” Atem asked, completely still on the swing next to him.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I don’t really know how to say it.”

“You can try, yes?”

Yugi sighed through his nose, not even sure what would come out of his mouth when he opened it.

“Did you want kids?” he asked.

The silence that followed hung heavier than any metal or stone. Yugi was swimming in it, forcibly shoving his flimsy swing through the dead air.

“Yes,” Atem finally said, so quiet Yugi almost didn’t hear him. “I did. _We_ did. But it was not to be.”

Yugi could have said a hundred things. He could have told Atem he would have been a great father – that he _still_ would. He could have sympathized with his never getting to have any. He could have asked about why. He could have even said _Me too_.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

“it was expected of me,” Atem continued. “Even if I had not, I would not have had the choice to refuse. But I did, as did Feriha. Though it was trial and error.” He snorted, lifeless. “Mostly error.”

“Did you ever find out what went wrong, at least?”

“No. It was simply one failed attempt after another. It took a horrible toll on her, and eventually we… stopped trying.”

Yugi scraped his feet against the dirt and mulch under his feet and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lamely.

“It cannot be helped,” Atem replied, shaking his head. “But thank you.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Yugi brought the conversation back around. “Moriko seemed to really like you, though.”

“She liked the _cards_ ,” Atem protested, but he was smiling again, just a little. Yugi counted that as a win.

“Did you see how _amazed_ she was when you said hello to her? She totally loved you.”

“Oh, she would have lost interest eventually.”

“You two have that much in common, at least.”

Atem folded his arms. “Back to insulting me, are you?”

Yugi picked up the speed of his swing, sailing gently into the air. “It’s not an insult, it’s a fact.”

“You appeared rather entranced yourself, darling.”

“Well _yeah_. I was looking at _you_.”

Atem smiled into his lap, bashful. "You flatter me."

"You do remember that I am completely in love with you right?"

"And I you, but—"

"But what? There's no but! You're just fun to be around, and _very_ good at putting on a show."

He spread his arms wide, like he was waiting for a spotlight. “My only goal is to entertain the masses.”

“I’m always entertained by you.” Yugi swung himself even higher, kicking out with all the strength in his legs. “There’s a lot to be entertained by.”

“Thank you?”

“ _So_ much entertainment.”

In the short moment Yugi dipped low enough, he looked Atem in the eye and gave an exaggerated wink. Atem was unimpressed.

“Who acts like a child now?” he taunted.

“My thoughts are very adult, actually.”

“Yugi!”

“What?”

It took most of his effort not to laugh on his way back down. Atem sat hunched on the swing with one hand across his eyes, the bottom half of his face very clearly screwed up in something resembling agitation.

“What?” Yugi repeated.

Atem just sighed and tipped his head back. “I am far too old for this.”

Yugi did laugh that time. “Who’s the killjoy _now_?”

He held out a single finger. “Say nothing.”

Yugi decided to play nice and let him recover. But only for about thirty seconds.

“Question,” he said, slowing the speed of his swinging.

“Ask away.”

“You don’t have a body, and you already told me you can’t feel physical things. So, can you even get—?”

“Get…?”

“You know.” He leaned back on the swing as far as his arms would let him. “Entertained.”

Atem clearly caught the implication, because he averted his eyes and his voice was noticeably higher when he replied, “I see.”

Yugi pulled himself back up, gently rocking back and forth. “So, can you?”

He spun his hands around in circles. “Yes and no? I remember what it was like in life, barely, but there is no direct translation to _this_.” He gestured to his body, or lack thereof. “I still feel emotional… sensations. And I have opinions of my own, of course.”

“It wouldn’t do anything for you, then?”

“I—It— _Nothing_ is a bit of an exaggeration—a misnomer, or ah. Um. Something of the sort.”

Yugi grew a devious smirk. “Oh really?”

Atem was doing everything to avoid eye contact short of closing his eyes completely. “Of course, there can be no _finish_ if there is no _start_ , but I care for you deeply, and you—you—” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, fighting for words that weren’t there.

Yugi, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. “I’m what?”

“ _You are_ quite lovely, and if—and any _entertainment_ you had would—it would not be _un_ pleasant. For me.“

“Not unpleasant, hm?”

Atem finally looked at Yugi head on, eyes wide and pleading. “Please do not make this any harder than it already is for me.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

“Thank you.”

“But what I’m _hearing_ is that I have fun and you watch.”

“ _Please_ , Yugi.”

“ _Now_ I’m done.” He pretended to zip his mouth shut. “Super done. For real this time.”

Atem narrowed his eyes. “Truly?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good.” He looked up into the afternoon sun and tilted his head. “Should we not be heading home soon?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“The groceries?”

Yugi, who had already started to kick his swing back into high gear, scraped his feet along the ground. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”

“The ice cream is totally melted.”

He leapt out of his seat and made a mad dash for the car, Atem floating alongside him and laughing.

“Why did you not just take it home first?” he asked.

“Because I wasn’t thinking about it!”

“How could you have _not_ been thinking about it?”

“I was distracted, alright?”

Despite his arguments, he found the energy to laugh at himself when he was sitting in the driver’s seat. He actually forgot about the _one thing_ he had to do today, because he was too busy hanging out at the park with Atem.

With his… boyfriend, Atem.

Yeah.

“I love you,” he said, and it was so natural. So mindless. A habit already.

Atem smiled softly from the passenger seat. “I love you as well, dove.”

And then they went home. To the home they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'my dove can sing'? that’s what I thought you'd say you dumb fucking bottom" - my partner, upon reading this chapter for the first time
> 
> things are gonna start picking up now, strap in for some PLOT, folks

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as livingthedragonlife or on my writeblr as ink-flavored! any comments and feedback are appreciated! <3


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